Two  Women  &  a  Fool 

by 

H.CChatfield-Taylor 


Two   Women   &  a   Fool 


• 


Two  Women  &f  a  Fool 


BY 


H.  C.  Chatfield -Taylor 


WITH   A   FRONTISPIECE  BY 

C.   D.   Gibson 


CHICAGO 
STONE    &   KIMBALL 

MDCCCXCVI 


f>s 

35-05 


-r? 


COPYRIGHT,  I  8  g  5 
BY   STONE    *•    KIMBALI. 


NINTH   T  H  O  U  S  A N ! 


I. 


"  A  fool's  heart  and  a  woman's  eyes/ 

Timon  of  Athens. 

JIGHTS  gleam  in  the  amber  bub 
bles  as  Moira  raises  her  glass. 
She  smiles.  Does  she  mean  to  pledge 
me  in  a  toast?  No,  her  eyes  grow 
thoughtful.  She  places  the  glass  on 
the  table  and  gazes  at  the  blue-white 
cloth. 

I  watch  her  intently.  To  my  artist's 
eye  her  delicate  skin,  with  its  enigma  of 
tints,  and  her  wavy  folds  of  reddish  hair 
form  a  perfect  Titian  harmony.  But 
her  power  lies  in  those  dreamy  brown 
eyes  with  the  curling  lashes  and  arched 
brows.  Yes,  a  woman's  eyes  reveal  the 
ideality  of  her  nature  ;  her  lips  its  re 
ality.  Moira's  eyes  penetrate,  insinuate, 
mystify,  but  her  lips  are  luxurious,  im- 
i 


2  TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

pulsive,  passionate.  Her  eyes  allure; 
her  lips  incite. 

She  looks  up.  A  smile  creeps  stealth 
ily  across  her  face,  then  vanishes.  She 
lifts  her  glass  again.  I  watch  the  flit 
ting  bubbles. 

"Guy,"  she  says,  "  Champagne  is  like 
love,  inspiring  while  the  sparkle  lasts, 
sickening  when  the  life  is  gone." 

"Yes,  and  like  love  there  is  but  one 
remedy  for  it." 

"What  is  that  ?  "  she  asks. 

"Get  a  fresh  bottle,  find  a  new  inspi 
ration." 

She  throws  herself  back  against  the 
cushions  of  the  divan.  Her  white  shoul 
ders  sink  into  the  folds  of  silk. 

"I  see  you  are  sampling  a  new  vint 
age,  Guy.  Come,  tell  me  what  she  is 
like." 

She  laughs  as  she  says  this;  laughs  so 
that  her  musical  voice  echoes  through 
the  room,  but  her  eyes  are  mysterious 
still. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.  3 

"Tell  me  what  she's  like,"  she  re 
peats. 

"What  who  's  like?" 

"  Why,  the  she.  The  one  you  would 
like  to  love  if  you  could  make  up  your 
mind  to  forget  me." 

I  feel  myself  grow  red. 

"  Dear  old  Guy,  silly  old  Guy,  as  an 
artist  you  are  a  tolerable  success,  but  if 
you  should  ever  try  to  act  you  'd  be 
hissed  off  the  first  night.  I  'm  a  woman, 
Guy." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Why  for  us  women  the  mind  of  a 
man  is  far  easier  to  dissect  than  those 
frog's  brains  we  used  to  cut  up  at  col 
lege.  You  remember  them,  do  n't  you, 
Guy  ?  A  sombre  room,  rising  tiers  of 
seats,  a  hundred  students,  each  pair  with 
a  board  between  them,  half  as  many 
frogs,  a  scowling  prof.,  and  —  Ugh  ! 
it  's  too  terrible  to  think  of.  How 
did  I  endure  such  a  life  even  for  a 
term?" 


4  TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"  I  don  't  see  yet  what  frog's  brains 
have  to  do  with  your  absurd  statement," 
I  interrupt. 

"  You  are  irrelevant ; "  she  says, 
throwing  a  piece  of  bread  across  the 
table,  and,  womanlike,  missing  my  head 
by  a  foot  or  two.  "  You  must  n't  inter 
rupt;  I  have  the  floor,  and  mean  to  talk." 

"  About  frogs  ?  " 

"No,  about  you." 

"  A  far  more  interesting  topic." 

"  To  you  perhaps,  but  it  is  time  you 
knew  that  man  is  the  lowest  form  of 
vertebrate.  He  has  n't  half  as  much 
backbone  as  a — as  a — oh,  what  do  you 
call  it  ?  As  an  amphioxus.  You  see  it 
did  me  some  good  to  go  to  college 
after  all." 

"  Of  course,  otherwise  you  would  not 
have  met  me." 

"  If  you  interrupt  again,  I  '11  spill 
candle  grease  on  you.  Now,  let  me  see, 
what  was  I  saying?  O  yes,  no  wonder 
I  forgot.  It  was  you.  No,  it  was  n't,  it 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.  5 

was  the  She.  You  want  me  to  tell  how 
I  know  about  her?" 

I  glance  at  the  table  and  play  with 
the  stem  of  my  glass.  Her  inscrutable 
eyes  are  gazing  at  me,  but  I  dare  not 
look  up. 

"Guy,"  she  continues,  seriously,  "just 
think  back  thirty-six  hours.  You  came 
into  the  train  at  Crestline,  or  some  such 
place.  I  thought  you  would  come  on 
to  New  York.  We  played  there  six 
weeks,  you  know.  Perhaps  you  do  n't. 
Perhaps  I  did  n't  interest  you  sufficient 
ly  to  find  out.  But  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there.  You  came  into  the  car  and 
gave  me  a  bunch  of  pink  roses  in  a 
sheepish  sort  of  way,  then  you  plunged 
your  hands  in  your  pockets  and  sat  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  You  had  n't 
spirit  enough  to  take  up  our  quarrel  of 
last  spring ;  you  never  looked  me  in  the 
eye  once,  and  you  did  n't  even  flirt  with 
the  chorus  girls,  though  we  've  got  some 
uncommonly  pretty  ones  this  season. 


0  TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Oh,  Guy,  I  knew  there  was  something 
up  directly  I  saw  you  ;  if  I  needed  fur 
ther  proof  I  had  it.  Do  you  remember 
your  dinner  engagement  last  night?  Of 
three  weeks'  standing,  was  n't  it,  though 
from  the  awkward  way  you  invented  it 

1  '11  wager  you   have  n't  had  a  dinner 
engagement  since  you  left  Brompton." 

"  I  happen  to  have  had  that  one. 
Smart  people,  too  ;  that 's  why  they  in 
vited  me  so  far  ahead.  Mrs.  Watterson 
is  coming  to  the  studio  to-morrow.  I 
wish  I  could  sell  her  that  cumbrous 
"Schumann  Sonata"  of  mine.  Smart 
people  know  nothing  about  pictures, 
you  know,  but  perhaps  that  is  lucky  for 
us  painters." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
dinner,"  Moira  interrupts.  "  You  'd 
like  to  change  the  subject,  would  n't 
you  ?" 

"Do  you  know  Moira,  you  're  a  sort 
of  love-phcenix,  you  would  rise  un 
scathed  from  a  thousand  flames." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.  7 

"  That 's  the  first  compliment  you 
have  paid  me  since  we  parted  in  Lon 
don  last  May.  It 's  September  now. 
But  you  can 't  shunt  me  like  that.  We  've 
only  accounted  for  your  behaviour  up  to 
dinner  last  night;  how  about  supper?" 

"  I  told  you  to  rest  then,  to-night  be 
ing  a  first  night,  you  know." 

"  Were  you  ever  so  considerate  of  my 
health  before?  How  about  the  re 
hearsal  to-day  ?  You  know  you  always 
have  the  run  of  the  theatre  when  I  sing." 

"  I  'm  working  hard  now.  I  had  to 
paint." 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  that,  and  so  you 
had  to  sit  in  the  stalls  to-night  and  look 
as  glum  as  a  hired  mourner  when  I 
smiled  my  sweetest  and  shot  my  tender- 
est  glances  at  you,  which  of  course  I 
did  n't  do,  for  that  Frenchman,  d'Ar- 
genteuil,  was  next  you.  He  appreciates 
them  more  than  you  do.  By  the  way, 
he  has  grown  good  looking  since  he  left 
London." 


8  TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"D'Argenteuil  good  looking!  Pic 
turesque,  yes;  but  good  looking — O,  I 
say,  that 's  too  ridiculous." 

"  Not  nearly  as  ridiculous  as  you  sit 
ting  there  and  trying  to  pretend  there  's 
no  She.  I  know  all  about  her  except 
her  name,  and  you  will  tell  me  that  be 
fore  the  evening  is  over." 

"Not  if  I  know  it." 

"  Good.  So  you  acknowledge  there 
is  one?" 

"No,  I  do  n't." 

Moira  laughs. 

I  leave  my  chair  and  pace  the  floor. 

"Hearts  are.  like  chemical  elements," 
she  says.  "  To  a  union  of  two  add  a 
third  and  an  explosion  results." 

I  do  not  reply.  Stopping  before  the 
mantelpiece,  I  examine  the  pictures  in 
a  long  folding  frame.  Moira's  apart 
ment  is  in  a  quiet  Michigan  Avenue 
hotel.  I  have  seen  such  rooms  before. 
Gilded  chairs  with  resplendent  plush  up 
holstery,  thick  stuffy  curtains,  walls 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.  9 

papered  in  ill  blending  hues,  a  spongey 
flower  bedecked  carpet,  a  general  air  of 
ill  assorted  lavishness.  But  Moira  can 
make  even  such  a  place  livable.  A  vase 
of  flowers,  a  bit  of  old  stuff,  a  few  orien 
tal  pillows,  some  screens  or  photo 
graphs,  give  that  cheerless  lodging  a 
dash  of  cosiness. 

Scanning  the  photographs  in  the 
frame  before  me  I  recognize  a  few  of 
them.  There  are  women  in  evening 
dress,  or  tights,  with  frizzled  hair  and 
wasp-like  waists,  with  big  celestial  eyes 
and  little  earthy  mouths  ;  women  whose 
faces  call  forth  memories  of  pretty  St. 
John's  Wood  villas,  or  sombre  little 
Kensington  houses,  where  flowering 
window  boxes  and  delicate  curtains  give 
the  passer  by  the  merest  nibble  at  the 
daintiness  within.  There  are  men,  too; 
some  of  them  mere  boys  in  man's  attire, 
clean  cut,  well  groomed,  with  fresh 
young  faces,  trustful  eyes  and  pliant 
mouths;  some  older  with  thinnish  hair, 


IO        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

cruel  eyes  and  callous  features;  and 
others  older  still,  with  sleek  bald  spots 
and  unctuous  jowls,  bushy  eye-brows 
and  turgid  eyelids.  I  know  most  of 
them.  I  have  seen  them  blushing  in 
the  stalls,  standing  in  the  wings,  or  wait 
ing  at  the  stage  door  of  the  Frivolity 
Theatre,  Strand.  In  a  frame  by  itself 
is  my  own  picture. 

"You  honor  me,  Moira,"  I  say,  turn 
ing  towards  her. 

She  is  lighting  a  cigarette.  Occa 
sionally  one  meets  a  woman  who  has  a 
dainty,  piquant  way  of  holding  a  cigar 
ette  which  disguises  the  vulgarity  of  the 
action.  Moira  is  one.  She  blows  out 
the  match  and  drops  it  into  an  ash  tray 
with  a  fascinating  little  gesture. 

"  Guy,"  she  says,  sending  a  puff  of 
blue  smoke  upward,  and  motioning  to 
the  seat  beside  her  on  the  divan,  "come 
here." 

She  smiles. 

The  moment  before  I  was  angry  be- 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL          I  I 

cause  she  read  my  mind  too  clearly. 
There  may  be  a  man  whose  resentment 
her  smile  would  aggravate,  but  I  am 
not  he. 

Reluctantly,  ignomimously  it  seems 
to  me,  I  saunter  towards  the  table.  The 
remnants  of  a  supper  are  there.  Rum 
pled  napkins,  half  burned  candles,  salad 
stained  plates,  crumbs  of  bread,  the  car 
cass  of  a  bird.  Usually  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  such  a  disorder  would  appeal  to 
me,  but  to-night  that  phantom  of  a 
feast  nauseates  me.  I  have  experienced 
the  same  feeling  before,  when  the  morn 
ing  after  a  carouse  I  throw  back  the 
curtains  in  my  studio  and  the  glaring 
sunlight  bursting  into  the  gloom,  daz 
zles  my  bloodshot  eyes ;  when  my  tem 
ples  throb  and  my  lungs  inhale  the 
close  air  of  overnight  with  its  vapid 
odor  of  smoke  and  stale  wine. 

Why  should  I  be  so  affected  now,  I 
wonder.  Is  it  because  the  ego  is  but  a 
jumble  of  nerve  centres  fed  by  the 


12         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

stomach;  because  our  capacity  for  pleas 
urable  impression  is  controlled  by  the 
state  of  the  gastric  juices? 

I  blow  out  the  candles,  push  the  table 
away,  and  take  the  seat  beside  Moira. 

"  Have  a  Morris  cigarette,  Guy  ?"  she 
says,  reaching  for  a  little  silver  case  I 
once  gave  her.  "  I  do  n't  believe  you 
can  get  them  here." 

"  No,  thanks,  I  won't  smoke,"  I  an 
swer  almost  gruffly. 

Moira  laughs. 

"  Dear,  naughty,  old  boy,"  she  says; 
"  if  you  keep  on  thinking  about  Her 
you'll  make  me  jealous,  and  then  I  may 
love  you." 

She  blows  a  puff  of  smoke  into  my 
face.  It  makes  me  cough.  She  laughs 
again. 

"  Moira,"  I  say,  "be  serious." 

"I  can  't  be  that.  Nothing  makes  me 
serious  but  a  bad  dinner.  I  am  feeling 
too  well  to-night.  By  the  way,  how  do 
you  like  my  new  crescent?  Lord  Kildale 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         13 

gave  it  me  when  I  was  leaving  London. 
Look  at  the  size  of  the  stones.  I  won 
der  if  his  wife  has  any  as  big  ?  Oh, 
these  men,  Guy,  especially  the  married 
ones." 

"  Oh,  these  women,  Moira,  especially 
the  ones  like  you." 

She  looks  up  into  my  face.  A  subtle 
perfume  rises  from  her  hair.  For  a 
moment  I  hold  her  in  my  arms  and  feel 
the  velvety  warmth  of  her  cheek  on  my 
lips.  For  a  moment  only,  for  she 
pushes  me  back  and  darts  away,  her 
laughter  rippling  through  the  room. 

"  Guy !  Guy  ! "  she  exclaims.  "  So 
that 's  what  you  call  being  serious." 

I  rush  after  her. 

"  Moira,  I  'm  mad,"  I  cry.  "  Mad 
dened,  intoxicated  by  you." 

She  turns  and  stands  there  with  her 
head  thrown  back  imperatively,  her  lit 
tle  figure  made  commanding  by  its 
authoritative  pose. 

"  Do  n't  come  a  step  nearer." 


14         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

The  flash  of  her  eyes  enjoins  obedi 
ence. 

"Oh,  Guy!  weak,  fickle  Guy,"  she 
says,  shaking  her  head  reproachfully. 
"  You  are  forgetting  that  other  woman. 
Go  to  her ;  tell  her  I  fascinate  you. 
Flatter  her  into  believing  I  am  a  pass 
ing  fancy  which  bewitches  you ;  tell  her 
I  'm  a  fury  with  topaz  hair  and  gleam 
ing  eyes  of  adamant,  whose  glance  trans 
fixes  you.  Tell  her  that,  or  anything, 
and  if  she  loves  you  she  '11  believe  it." 

"  Moira,"  I  cry.  "  You  never  loved 
me  as  she  does.  She  trusts  me.  She 
knows  about  you,  for  I  told  her  all.  I 
offered  never  to  see  you  again,  but  she 
sent  me  to  you  and  told  me  that  if  I 
loved  you  still  I  was  free.  I  thought  I 
could  be  true  to  her.  I  am  a  coward. 
Pity  me,  Moira,  forgive  me." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  to  come  back  to 
me  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Her   big,  mystical    eyes    grow   cold. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.          I  5 

She  is  silent.  I  wait  for  her  to  speak, 
and  as  I  wait  I  see  in  fancy  the  trustful 
eyes  of  the  other  looking  into  mine. 

Moira  takes  my  hat  and  coat  from  a 
chair  and  comes  toward  me. 

"  Guy,"  she  says,  "  you  're  going 
now." 

"Why?"  I  ask,  hoarsely. 

"  Because  I  wish  it." 

I  hesitate. 

"Because  I  command  it." 

She  holds  my  coat.  Slowly  I  place 
my  arms  in  the  sleeves  and  draw  it  over 
my  shoulders.  I  am  partly  conscious 
of  the  deep-toned  ticking  of  a  clock.  I 
take  my  hat  from  her  hand  and  sullenly 
walk  to  the  door,  She  follows.  On  the 
threshold  I  turn  to  bid  her  good-night. 
For  a  moment  I  stand  there  unable  to 
speak.  Our  glances  meet.  She  throws 
her  arms  about  my  neck  and  kisses  me, 
then  tosses  her  head  back.  Her  fathom 
less  eyes  own  me  again. 

"  Guy,  to-morrow  you  may  come,  but 


1 6        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

• 

it  must  be  for  always;  there  must  be  no 
other  woman." 

"  Now !  "  I  cry. 

She  pushes  me  back.  The  door  closes. 
The  lock  clicks. 


II. 

"  There  is  a  Frenchman  his  companion." 

Cymbeline. 

J'ARGENTEUIL  is  waiting  in  the 
studio.  As  I  enter,  I  see  his  little 
eyes  sparkle  behind  the  pages  of  a  paper- 
covered  book.  His  stubbly  hair,  cut  close 
behind  and  showing  the  scar  of  a  sabre 
slash,  rises  above  his  ochre  tinted  fore 
head  in  a  bushy  tuft  like  the  crest  of  a 
penguin.  The  book  drops  into  his  lap 
disclosing  a  Valois  beard,  cropped  like 
a  blackthorn  hedge.  His  face  is  not  of 
to-day.  It  needs  a  pointed  doublet  and 
plumed  cap,  long  hose  and  doeskin 
boots.  As  he  glances  up  I  fancy  I  see 
the  gleam  of  those  eyes  in  a  charge  at 
Moncontour,  or  their  soft  glances  at 
some  fair  Gabrielle  d'Estrees.  His  an 
cestor  fell  fighting  for  the  League.  In 
2  17 


1 8         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

d'Argenteuil's  veins  flows  the  blood  of 
the  Montmorency. 

"Who  let  you  in?"  I  ask. 

"My  dear  Guy!"  The  points  of 
d'Argenteuil's  moustache  vibrate  gro 
tesquely  as  he  speaks.  Long  as  I  have 
known  him  this  always  amuses  me. 
"  My  dear  Guy  !  The  concierge  ;  how 
you  call  him  the  janiteur.  Ez  it  not  so  ? 
He  leive  me  in." 

"Well,  now  you're  here  you  may 
stop  on  one  condition  :  Do  n't  practice 
English  on  me.  Keep  that  for — 

"  For  the  beasts  you  call  servants  in 
your  country.  Where  do  you  keep 
your  cigarettes  ?  "  He  asks  in  his  Pari 
sian  vernacular. 

He  knows  I  keep  them  in  an  old 
Gres  de  Flandres  mug,  almost  at  his 
elbow,  but  he  has  a  way  of  asking  for 
everything. 

"You  don't  seem  glad  to  see  me;" 
he  continues,  striking  a  match  and  hold 
ing  it  so  that  his  thin  features  grow 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.          1 9 

Mephistophelian  in  the  glare  of  the 
flames.  I  should  like  to  paint  him  in 
that  role.  "You  do  n't  seem  glad  to  see 
me,  and  yet  I  have  been  waiting  ever 
since  the  opera.  Though  I  confess  I 
did  not  expect  to  find  you." 

"Then  why  did  you  come  ?"  I  say  as 
I  drop  between  the  bulging  arms  of  my 
favorite  chair. 

"  To  get  as  far  away  from  Chicago  as 
I  can.  Fourteen  stories  nearer  para 
dise." 

"  Can  you  reach  that  pipe  there  ?  " 
I  ask.  "  Not  the  meerschaum  ;  the  lit 
tle  briar  with  the  straight  stem.  Thanks. 
There  's  tobacco  in  that  powder  flask. 
Hand  it  me,  won't  you  ?  And  a  match 
too.  So  the  janitor  let  you  in  ?"  I  con 
tinue,  as  the  first  whiff  of  a  sublime 
mixture,  the  secret  of  which  I  owe  to 
an  old  Indian  officer,  rushes  through 
my  pipe  stem. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  lost  for  two  hours 
between  these  yellow  covers.  I  quite 


20        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

forgot  I  was  in  your  fourteenth  story 
paradox." 

"  Why  that  ?  " 

"  Because  perched  at  the  very  top  of 
this  altar  of  utility  I  find  one  artistic 
nook  ;  one  breathing  spot,  where  I  can 
inhale  the  pure  air  of  art  and  purge  my 
nostrils  of  the  fetid  atmosphere  one 
breathes  in  this  tumult  you  call  Chicago. 
Is  it  not  a  paradox  ?  " 

I  nod  in  acquiescence. 

"  It  is  absurd,  my  dear  fellow,  I  do  n't 
understand  it  at  all;"  he  says.  "To 
night  it  is  quiet  enough,  but  in  the  day 
time  I  come  to  the  door  in  one  of  those 
clanging,  jerking  cable  cars;  I  jump 
off  because  the  pig  of  a  conductor  won't 
stop  for  me  ;  I  splash  mud  all  over  my 
boots  ;  I  stumble  over  a  heap  of  gar 
bage  ;  I  slip  on  a  banana  skin ;  I  am 
jostled  by  a  throng  of  embryo  million 
aires  ;  I  rush  into  a  vestibule  where 
glistening  tiles  and  gilded  arabesques 
are  jumbled  into  one  glaring  apotheosis 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         21 

of  bad  taste,  and  after  being  jammed 
into  an  iron  cage  where  my  toes  are 
trodden  upon  and  my  nose  inflicted 
with  a  dozen  human  smells,  I  am  shot 
up  into  space,  and  landed  opposite  the 
door  of  this  art-haven.  It  is  absurd  ; 
it  is  irrational." 

"  It  is  neither,  it  is  Chicago.  A  pre 
judiced  Parisian  like  yourself  whose 
ideas  are  bounded  by  the  grass-covered 
fortifications  of  Paris,  can't  understand 
this  vigorous  city.  Art  and  commerce 
can  struggle  side  by  side,  Raymond." 

"  Bah  !  What  do  these  savages  know 
about  art?" 

D'Argenteuil  talks  to  me  that  way 
because  I  am  an  artist,  because  he 
knew  me  in  Paris.  When  he  was 
naval  attach^  in  London  he  talked 
much  the  same  way  about  the  English. 
Brutes,  boors,  canaille ;  that  was  what 
they  were.  Now  he  is  one  of  the  French 
commission  to  the  Exposition,  and  for 
a  year  he  has  been  eating  the  dinners  of 


22        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Chicagoans  and  laughing  at  them.  He 
amuses  me,  but  sometimes  he  make  me 
lose  my  temper." 

"I  think  you  have  said  enough,"  I 
say.  "  You  forget  I  was  born  here." 

Apparently  unmindful  of  the  snub  he 
gazes  about  the  studio  admiringly. 

"  I  like  your  foothold  anyway.  If  you 
want  to  instill  an  appreciation  for  art 
into  the  shrivelled  souls  of  your  com 
patriots,  you  would  better  bring  them 
up  here,  one  at  a  time,  and  feast  their 
eyes  on  the  delights  of  this  room." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  appreciate  something 
besides  yourself  and  Paris." 

"  Myself,  Guy?     I  loath  myself." 

"  You  conceal  the  antipathy  admira 
bly,"  I  suggest. 

I  wish  he  would  go.  He  usually 
amuses  me  ;  to-night  he  bores  me. 

"  I  am  the  victim  of  heredity,  Guy." 

"  Indeed ! " 

"  Yes,  I  was  born  an  artist,  heredity 
makes  me  a  sailor." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         23 

"Why  not  combine  the  two  like 
Pierre  Loti?" 

"  Too  late,  too  late,"  he  sighs. 

"  If  you  were  born  an  artist,  what  has 
heredity  to  do  with  your  love  for  the 
sea?" 

"  Love  for  the  sea  !      I  hate  it." 

I  laugh,  I  can  't  help  it.  "  You  have 
the  Legion  of  Honor  and  a  Tonquin 
medal,"  I  suggest.  "  You  seem  to  do 
pretty  well  in  a  profession  you  loathe." 

"  Pride,  Guy.  Again  it  is  heredity. 
By  the  way,  I  wish  you  'd  get  some  other 
cigarettes.  I  shall  send  you  some  hand 
made  French  Caporals  just  for  myself 
when  I  visit  you." 

"Send  me  anything  you  like,  but  tell 
me  why  you  are  a  sailor  if  you  loathe 
the  sea?" 

He  swells  his  chest  proudly.  "My 
great-grandfather  was  an  admiral,"  he 
says. 

"What  the  devil  has  that  to  do  with 
it." 


24        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"In  our  family  the  eldest  son  has 
always  been  in  the  service  of  his  coun 
try.  Unless  killed,  he  retires  at  forty. 
I  have  three  years  more  of  this  loath 
some  life,  then  I  will  resign,  go  to  Paris, 
wear  smart  clothes,  put  a  flower  in  my 
button-hole,  drive  in  the  Bois,  marry; 
put  Marquis  de  Bigny  on  my  card  ;  in 
short  be  a  gentleman  bien  vu." 

"So  you  hide  your  nobility  under  a 
democratic  bushel  because  you  are  in 
the  service  of  the  Republic?  " 

"I  am  only  a  lieutenant  de  vaisseau ; 
were  I  an  admiral  or  even  a  captain  it 
would  be  different.  My  great-grand 
father  was  an  admiral." 

"But  your  father  was  a  soldier." 

"  Exactly.  That 's  why  I  am  a  sailor. 
It  was  my  turn.  Great-grandfather  a 
sailor,  grandfather  in  the  cavalry,  father 
in  the  infantry,  hence  Raymond  d'Ar- 
genteuil  spends  twenty  years  of  his  life 
in  a  service  he  detests." 

"Noblesse  oblige." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         25 

He  does  not  answer.  There  is  a 
sketch  over  in  the  corner  which  evi 
dently  interests  him,  for  he  gets  up  and 
walks  across  the  room.  It  is  a  woman's 
head  in  profile  ;  the  remnant  of  a  fancy 
which  once  flitted  through  my  life,  leav 
ing  no  more  durable  impression  than  a 
few  strokes  of  my  brush  upon  a  bit  of 
canvas.  I  might  have  had  her  love  had 
I  cared  for  it.  How  different  other  im 
pressions  have  been. 

The  smoke  gurgles  through  my  pipe 
stem.  As  I  blow  clouds  up  towards  the 
ceiling  and  watch  the  blue,  wavy  streaks, 
the  thought  comes  to  me  that  a  woman's 
influence  is  a  variable  physical  force. 
There  must  be  laws  governing  passion, 
as  there  are  laws  of  magnetism.  A  half 
hour  since,  when  Moira's  face  was 
thrillingly  near  mine,  she  was  irresisti 
ble.  Now  she  seems  like  a  vague  dan 
ger  which  threatens  me.  Were  I  to 
frame  a  law  as  mathematicians  do,  I 
would  say  that  love  is  a  force  acting  in 


26        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

inverse  ratio  to  the  proximity  of  the  at 
tracting  power.  After  every  attraction 
there  is  an  equal  and  contrary  repulsion. 
The  energy  progresses  geometrically. 
The  impulse  is  imparted  by  induction — 
by  chance  isn't  it?  So  much  for  being 
a  philosopher  —  so  much  for  being  a 
fool. 

"  I  say,  Raymond,  why  do  you  look 
at  me  like  that?" 

"  I  just  paid  your  art  a  compliment, 
Guy  ;  you  did  n't  hear  me  ;  you  're  in 
love." 

"Well?" 

"Get  over  it." 

"  Can  one  paint  over  a  passion  as  one 
does  a  bad  picture ;  can  one  trace  a 
new  affection  on  an  old  blurred  heart?" 

He  paces  the  floor  with  his  hands 
plunged  in  the  pockets  of  his  baggy 
flannel  trousers.  There  is  more  gene 
rosity  than  smartness  in  the  cut  of  that 
blue  serge  coat,  and  the  ends  of  his 
crimson  tie  fall  in  careless  bounteous 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         2? 

folds  from  under  the  corners  of  his 
broad  Byron-like  collar.  How  atro 
ciously  d'Argenteuil  dresses.  He 
doesn't  even  consider  us  Chicagoans 
worthy  of  evening  clothes.  To  dress 
badly  seems  a  passion  with  him.  He 
makes  but  one  exception.  He  is  too 
proud  of  his  little  patrician  feet  to  en 
case  them  in  anything  but  the  daintiest 
of  patent  leather  boots.  Stopping  be 
fore  a  portrait  I  am  painting,  he  casts 
his  eye  over  the  canvas  critically. 

"  Not  bad,  not  bad,"  he  mutters.  "A 
dumpy  bourgeoise  idealized,  a  pug- 
faced  parvenue  made  tolerable  and  the 
likeness  retained.  Miss  McSweeney  will 
stick  her  little  nose  up  higher  than  ever 
and  papa  McSweeney  ought  to  shower 
you  with  dollars." 

"  I  wish  you  would  answer  my  ques 
tion." 

"  A  thousand  pardons.  You  were 
talking  about  love,  and  you  want  my 
ppinion.  Well,  I  give  it  cheerfully.  The 


28         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

nativity  of  passion  is  the  birth  of  imbe 
cility.  Be  in  love  if  you  like,  my  dear 
Guy.  Be  in  love  with  your  art,  but 
with  a  woman — La !  La !  what  stupid 
ity!" 

"Is  not  the  intention  of  all  art  to 
give  pleasure?  Cannot  love  become  an 
art?" 

He  stops  and  glares  at  me.  Then  a 
glance  of  pity  fills  his  eyes. 

"  Cherbuliez  says  a  work  of  art  is  the 
production  of  a  fool  and  a  sage.  Love, 
is  ..hework  of  a  fool  and  the  devil." 

Cynical  d'Argenteuil !  how  he  likes 
to  ramble  on  like  that,  tumbling  down 
glittering  idols,  piercing  fond  senti 
ments  with  his  shafts,  and  all  the  time, 
he  is  as  impulsive  as  a  girl  of  sixteen,  as 
easily  led  by  a  glance  as  a  boy  of 
twenty.  Have  I  not  seen  him  worship 
at  the  shrine  of  more  than  one  fair 
Saxon  goddess  when  he  was  an  attach^ 
in  London?  Only  last  week  he  was 
pouring  forth  rapturous  Gallic  hyper- 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         2Q 

bole  about  the  charms  of  a  little  fawn- 
eyed  witch  who  sells  chewing  gum  in 
the  Manufactures  Building. 

"Raymond!" 

"Yes." 

"  You  say  that  in  three  years  you  in 
tend  to  marry;  will  you  be  foolish 
enough  to  marry  without  love?" 

"  Certainly  not.  Love  is  a  habit  like 
smoking  or  absinthe.  We  try  it  out  of 
curiosity,  and  it  becomes  fixed  upon  us. 
We  know  we  are  better  without  it,  but 
we  go  on  letting  the  insidious  poison 
destroy  our  nerves  and  our  happiness. 
I  acquired  the  love  habit  early  in  life ; 
when  I  marry  I  shall  keep  it  up,  merely 
changing  the  dose." 

"How  so?" 

He  laughs  cynically.  "  Why  a  bach 
elor  loves  his  friend's  wife ;  a  married 
man  loves  his  wife's  friend." 

"  Such  love  is  devilish." 

"  Devilish  nice,  my  dear,  as  you 
ought  to  know.  By  the  way,  your  old 


3Q         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

friend,  Moira  Marston,  smiled  at  me,  to 
night.  Fine  woman  that !  Have  you 
quarreled  ?  " 

"  No,  we  never  quarrel." 

"Yet  you  have  known  her  for  two 
years  to  my  certain  knowledge." 

"  Longer  than  that.  I  knew  her 
when  she  was  a  'co-ed.'' 

"  'Co-ed,'  what  is  that,  a  coryphee  ?" 

"  No,  worse  than  that ;  it  is  a  female 
student  in  a  university.  The  name 
is  an  abbreviation  from  co-educa 
tion." 

"  What  an  absurd  people  you  Ameri 
cans  are.  No  wonder  the  girls  talk  like 
men ;  but  Moira  Marston  is  pretty, 
whatever  she  is,  and  that  is  sufficient.  I 
wish  you  had  quarreled ;  I  would  like  to 
step  into  your  shoes." 

"  Judging  by  your  sentiments,  the 
matter  of  a  quarrel  should  not  stand  in 
your  way." 

He  glances  at  me  reproachfully. 
"  My  dear  Guy,  you  misjudge  me. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         31 

There  is  one  relationship  a  man  oi 
honor  always  respects." 

"  I  'm  in  no  mood  for  your  railleries, 
Raymond,  you  would  better  go  to  bed." 

Regardless  of  my  hint  he  walks  about 
the  studio  humming  a  cafe  chantant 
air ;  then  he  betrays  an  unusual  interest 
in  the  ceiling.  There  is  a  skylight  over 
head  covered  by  a  velarium  of  oriental 
silk,  woven  in  an  intricate  pattern.  A 
Persian  warrior  worked  into  the  stuff, 
he  examines  minutely;  then  he  walks  to 
a  wall  cabinet  where  I  keep  a  few  de 
canters  of  cordials.  Helping  himself  to 
a  small  glass  of  cognac,  he  turns  toward 
me. 

"  Your  health,  Guy,  and  do  n't  be  so 
foolish  as  to  let  a  little  red  haired  actress 
disturb  your  peace  of  mind.  Love  her 
if  you  like,  but  make  a  pleasure  of  your 
love.  Let  it  be  exhilarating  like  a 
morning  ride  in  the  park.  Let  it  be  a 
pastime,  not  a  purpose." 

"  Get  out  of  here,  you  bore  me." 


32        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

He  drains  his  glass  and  puts  it  down. 
"As  you  wish,  my  dear  Guy,  sorry  you  're 
out  of  sorts ; "  he  says  with  a  shrug  of 
the  shoulders.  "You  will  be  in  a  better 
mood  to-morrow.  Breakfast  with  me 
at  Old  Vienna." 

"  I  will  think  about  it.  Do  n't  wait 
for  me  after  twelve." 

Those  piercing  black  eyes  glance  at 
me  inquisitively.  "  Forget  about  her, 
Guy.  Love  is  a  chimera  with  the  head 
of  a  siren,  the  belly  of  a  cormorant,  and 
the  tail  of  a  sting-a-ree.  He  lures,  he 
devours,  and  as  he  dives  back  into  the 
depths  of  delusion  he  swishes  his  tail  and 
gives  the  heart  a  sting  which  seldom 
heals.  Now,  I  'm  going." 

We  walk  together  towards  the  door. 

"  Good  night,  Guy.  To-morrow  at 
twelve." 

"Yes." 

He  extends  his  hand. 

"Are  you  put  out  with  me,  moncher?" 

"  No,  we  are  friends." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         33 

"  Yes,  at  least  until  one  of  us  is  mar 
ried." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  a  married  man  has  onlj 
acquaintances  and  enemies;  the  latter 
class  invariably  includes  his  best  friend." 

Scoffing  d'Argenteuil  !  I  can  hear 
his  cynical  chuckle  echo  through  the 
hall,  as  his  nervous  step  clacks  on  the 
til* 


III. 

"As  due  to  love  as  thoughts  and  dreams." 

Mid-Summer  Nighfs  Dream. 

|Y  nurse  once  lured  me  into  the 
Chamber  of  Horrors  at  Madame 
Tussaud's.  I  shall  never  forget  my 
childish  terror.  The  waxen  images  of 
criminals,  the  bloated  faces  and  bloody 
necks,  the  mournful  eyes  of  Charlotte 
Corday  peering  through  her  prison  bars; 
to  me  they  were  real. 

One's  thoughts  are  sometimes  a 
chamber  of  horrors. 

Damn  it  all  ! — the  past  is  over. 

"To-morrow  you  may  come,  but  it 
must  be  for  always ;  there  must  be  no 
other  woman." 

How  those  words  follow  me.  I 
thought  that  passion  dead.  It  was  only 
slumbering.  A  glance  awoke  it,  and 
34 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         35 

the  pressure  of  two  lips  sent  it  bound 
ing  through  me  with  the  strength  of  a 
maniac  who  had  burst  his  chains. 

Moira !  Moira !  why  did  you  come 
back  into  my  life  to  torture  me? 

It  is  cold  here  ;  is  the  window  open? 
No,  it  must  have  been  the  fear  of  to 
morrow. 

The  night  seems  impenetrable — the 
earth  far  away.  That  double  row  of 
twinkling  lights  converging  into  noth 
ingness  ;  they  are  like  as  many  lives. 
They  flare  up,  burn,  and  are  extin 
guished.  We  all  sputter  for  a  time,  then 
go  out.  I  hate  to  look  at  the  black, 
infinite  sky — but  a  slice  of  the  universe, 
is  n't  it?  It  makes  me  realize  I  am  noth 
ing  but  an  atom.  That  train  flying 
along  there  by  the  lake,  with  the  lights 
flickering  in  the  car  windows — mysteri 
ous,  phantom-like,  it  looks  in  the  dark 
ness,  yet  it  is  only  a  few  cells  of  atoms. 
A  broken  rail,  a  misplaced  switch  may 
resolve  the  living  freight  into — into 


36        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

what?  I  never  look  down  from  a  great 
height  like  this  without  being  tempted 
to  penetrate  the  awful  mystery.  One 
plunge  through  space  would  solve  it. 
Would  it  hurt,  I  wonder  ;  or  would  one 
lose  consciousness  before  the  crash? 


My  pipe  is  out.  So  much  for  impo 
tent  speculation.  Where  did  d'Argen- 
teuil  put  that  powder  flask?  Oh,  there 
it  is  on  the  ledge  of  that  table.  I  re 
member  now,  I  had  it  in  my  hand. 
Altogether  too  absent  minded,  old  man. 
You  '11  be  forgetting  your  name  next. 

It's  curious  how  soothing  a  pipe  is. 
Cigarettes  irritate,  cigars  mollify,  but  a 
pipe  consoles.  Confound  that  match. 
That  's  the  second  that  would  n't  go. 


Moira's  picture.  I  thought  I  locked 
it  up,  but  here  it  is  on  the  ledge  of  this 
cabinet. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         37 

And  the  other. 

Am  I  forgetting  her,  or  do  I  crowd 
her  from  my  mind  because  I  am  afraid 
to  meet  her  even  in  my  thoughts?  I 
will  open  the  cabinet  and  look  at  her 
picture. 

Reproachful  eyes,  are  n't  they?  Wher 
ever  I  turn  they  follow  me.  You  have 
a  right  to  reproach  me  Dorothy,  but 
you  should  not  have  sent  me  to  the 
other.  It  were  better  to  let  her  pass 
out  of  my  life.  I  was  honest  with  you; 
I  told  you  the  truth.  I  loved  her.  It 
was  a  frenzied  love,  but  it  was  inade 
quate.  You  brought  peace  to  me  — 
inspiration  even  —  for  you  made  me 
work  as  I  never  worked  before  ;  but  did 
you  bring  everything  ?  Answer  me  ! 
You  do  not  speak.  Does  doubt  fill 
your  mind  too  ?  How  gracefully  you 
sit  in  that  low-backed  chair  ;  how  erect. 
There  is  a  purpose  in  every  line  of  your 
face.  You  are  sublime.  I  love  you  — 
my  soul  loves  you.  The  devil  owns  my 


38         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

body — -that  devil  with  insinuating  eyes 
and  glistening  reddish  hair. 


Moira  Marston — Dorothy  Temple,  I 
will  put  you  side  by  side  upon  the  table. 
Now  let  me  sit  and  look  at  you. 

You  were  side  by  side  when  I  first 
saw  you,  leaning  on  the  steamer's  rail, 
looking  at  the  water,  dreaming  no 
doubt,  for  you  did  not  speak.  Perhaps 
your  dreams  were  nightmares.  Trigo 
nometrical  nightmares  with  the  hideous 
shapes  of  co-sines  and  tangents  dancing 
before  your  frightened  freshman  eyes. 
You  both  seemed  paradoxical  when 
viewed  in  the  light  of  "co-eds"  for  you 
were  both  good  looking.  I  remember 
leaning  back  in  my  deck  chair  and 
studying  you.  My  artist's  eye,  though 
undeveloped  then,  appreciated  that  pic 
ture.  The  white  decked  steamer  with 
her  grinding  paddles  throbbing  monot 
onously,  a  hazy  atmosphere,  a  stretch 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.          39 

of  wooded  shore  near  by,  with  the 
broken  shadows  of  the  trees  reflected  in 
the  water,  and  beyond  all  a  line  of  bluish 
hills  crowned  by  the  familiar  buildings 
of  Alma  Mater,  with  their  greyish  out 
lines,  faintly  etched  against  the  sky. 

But  that  was  only  a  background,  a 
setting.  I  opened  my  sketch  book 
and  began  to  draw  them.  One  looked 
up  for  a  moment,  then  turned  away. 
Glancing  round  again  she  smiled,  and 
I  tried  in  vain  to  catch  her  saucy 
expression.  The  other  gazed  thought 
fully  at  the  lake. 


Curious,  was  n't  it,  that  they  should 
have  been  friends  in  those  days  ?  Their 
characters  were  as  different  then  as  now. 

I  wonder  if  Moira  remembers  that 
incident  in  the  geometry  examination. 

I  can  see  it  now  ;  see  it  clearer  than 
if  the  scene  were  painted  on  that  canvas 
yonder. 


4O        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

It  is  a  dingy  room  with  rising  tiers  of 
seats.  Two  hundred  excited  faces  scan 
the  scrawling  on  as  many  sheets  of  fool 
scap.  Crabbed  proctors  pace  the  floor 
eyeing  the  terrified  freshmen.  Their 
steps  echo  through  the  cheerless  hall. 
No  other  sound  but  the  occasional  rustle 
of  a  paper,  the  measured  grating  of 
pencils.  The  windows  are  open  and  the 
sultry  September  air  fans  the  heated  faces. 
Occasionally  a  sigh  escapes  parched  lips 
as  anxious  eyes  vainly  study  angles. 
The  pencils  scribble  monotonously. 

A  privileged  senior,  I  quietly  scan  the 
faces  of  that  incoming  class. 

In  the  front  row  of  seats  among  the 
score  or  so  whom  co-education  has  at 
tracted  to  those  halls,  are  Moira  and 
Dorothy  side  by  side  again.  One  writes 
deliberately,  the  other  scrawls  carelessly, 
then  gazes  round,  then  stops  to  sharpen 
a  pencil  point.  I  wish  I  could  forget 
it,  but  Moira  stealthily  draws  a  little 
scroll  of  paper  from  her  sleeve;  she 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         4! 

glances  up  and  catches  my  eye,  blushes 
and  scribbles  excitedly  a  moment,  then 
slyly  her  eyes  rise  to  mine  and  do  not 
turn  away.  A  daring,  almost  impudent 
smile,  trembles  on  her  little  mouth,  but 
her  eyes  grow  soft  and  plead. 

Why  did  I  wince  beneath  that  glance? 
Why  did  my  cheeks  glow  ?  Why  did  I 
not  turn  to  the  other  ?  She  bends  over 
her  paper  and  writes  confidently;  she 
does  not  pause  to  glance  up  and  smile  ; 
she  does  not  cheat  — cruel,  but  true 
word.  No,  her  delicate  face  is  sinceref 
her  dark  eyes  set  wide  apart,  with  arch 
ing  brows  and  curling  lashes,  are  hon 
est.  But  I  did  not  stop  to  analyse  that 
face  then.  I  paced  the  floor  nervously, 
then  turned  to  look  at  Moira.  She  knew 
it,  though  she  pretended  to  write. 


Ah  beauty !  what  are  you  to  so  dis 
turb  us?  We  fancy  we  meet  you  ready 
made,  but  are  you  not  created  before 


42         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

us,  or  in  us?  Are  you  not  an  act 
rather  than  an  actuality  ?  You  are  as 
illusive  as  happiness,  as  mysterious  as 
chance;  you  are  not  a  type,  for  you 
are  an  exception ;  comparative  too, 
for  to  the  next  observer  you  may 
be  hideous.  After  all  you  are  nothing 
but  a  lie  which  dazzles,  which  insinu 
ates.  In  the  dark  you  are  but  a  remi 
niscence. 

If  I  were  not  too  lazy  I  would  write 
that  down,  and  then  find  that  I  had 
read  most  of  it  somewhere,  or  that  it 
was  not  worth  reading. 

But  Moira's  subtle  beauty,  whatever 
it  be,  crept  into  my  heart.  It  in 
fused  itself  like  a  poison.  That  night, 
after  the  examination,  I  felt  it  biting. 
The  boisterous  songs  at  Metzger's  could 
not  deaden  it. 

Careless  hours,  those  spent  there.  I 
can  see  the  old  place  now — that  narrow 
dingy  room  with  German  prints  upon 
the  walls.  The  marble  topped  tables 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         4J 

hacked  by  successive  classes  are  placed 
end  to  end;  the  animated  faces  of  my 
chums  are  girdled  round  them.  Tumul 
tuous  laughter  fills  the  room.  The  air 
is  dense  with  smoke.  In  the  door 
way  Metzger  appears,  his  fat,  red  face 
beaming  with  smiles,  his  plump  dimpled 
arms  bared  to  the  elbow;  his  apron 
spotless  white.  He  bears  a  ponderous 
crystal  "Rubicon"  foaming  with  trans 
lucent  Pilsener,  and  amid  cheers  and 
jokes  from  lip  to  lip  the  frothy  cup  is 
passed.  The  last  man  drains  it,  slams 
it  bottom  upwards  on  the  table.  "  The 
Rubicon  is  crossed."  More  beer,  Metz 
ger.  A  song  !  a  song !  Then  sixty 
lusty  throats  swell  forth  in  chorus. 
Glorious  hours; — wasted  perhaps, — but 
who  regrets  them? 

When  I  look  at  this  photograph  of 
Moira  those  college  days  seem  incom 
prehensible.  Effective  costume,  is  n't  it? 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  night  she 
wore  it ;  the  applause,  her  five  recalls  ; 


44         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

yes,  she  came  on  just  as  she  is  there, 
with  a  dandified  strut,  and  a  swagger,  a 
quizzing  glass  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 
other  a  slender  staff  tied  round  with  a 
bow  of  satin  ribbon.  And  her  entrance 
song  with  its  quaint  refrain.  But  Moira 
made  the  song  ;  her  personality  ;  the 
dashing  way  she  sang  it.  How  proud 
I  felt.  But  it  is  hard  to  reconcile  it  all 
with  the  Moira  of  eight  years  ago. 

Yet  that  sly,  laughing  face,  almost 
smothered  by  the  fluffy  curls  of  the  wig, 
peeping  impudently  over  the  broad 
neckcloth  is  surely  the  same  face  that 
sent  me  covert  glances  in  the  examina 
tion  room.  That  easy  pose,  that  stun 
ning  long  tailed  coat  with  the  high  roll 
ing  collar  and  ruffled  cuffs,  that  cocked 
hat  pushed  jauntily  sidewise,  those  little 
feet  tipped  into  dainty  buckled  slippers 
with  high  French  heels;  it  is  all  studied 
effective,  fascinating,  but  is  it  not  Moira 
through  and  through. 

Yes,  the  same  Moira  of  those  college 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         45. 

days.  The  same  Moira  whom  I  met 
with  Dorothy  that  night  when  old  bil 
ious-eyed  Professor  Simpkins  invited  us 
to  tea.  I  shall  never  forget  the  glances 
she  sent  me  when  the  professor  of 
fered  up  thanks  for  the  chipped  beef 
and  the  wafer-like  slices  of  bread  with  a 
tinge  of  butter  here  and  there  ;  they 
nearly  lost  me  my  degree.  How  bored 
we  were  and  how  hungry  ;  but  Doro 
thy,  the  sweet  girl,  pretended  to  be  in 
terested  in  old  Simpkin's  stories. 


The  thought  of  that  tea  makes  me 
hungry.  Curious  effect  the  imagination 
has  on  the  appetite.  I  believe  I  will 
make  a  sandwhich. 

I  wonder  where  I  put  those  sardines? 
Ah,  there  they  are,  and  the  can  opener 
too.  That 's  luck. 

I  '11  take  this  stuff  over  to  the  table 
and  have  a  "spread,"  as  we  used  to  say 
in  college. 


46         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

By  Jove,  that  cork  comes  hard. 

At  all  events  this  is  a  slight  improve 
ment  on  Simpkins'  feast- — fast  is  the 
better  word — and  that  reminds  me  of 
the  supper  I  had  with  Moira  and  Doro 
thy  at  Jameson's  after  we  escaped  from 
the  old  boy's  starvation  party. 

I  am  sure  nothing  but  pity  for  those 
famished  girls — or  was  it  a  pair  of  eyes  ? 
— made  me  defy  college  opinion  and 
take  two  "co-eds"  to  Jameson's. 

Luckily  we  had  the  place  to  our 
selves. 

Poor,  hectic  Jameson,  I  can  see  his 
lean  fingers  picking  caramels  from  the 
long  glass  showcase ;  I  can  hear  his 
hacking,  consumptive  cough.  But  the 
gloom  of  his  moribund  presence  did  not 
penetrate  beyond  the  starched  lace  cur 
tains  and  dingy  green  lambrequins 
which  separated  his  candy  shop  from 
the  "  oyster  parlor." 

Yes,  we  were  hungry  that  night.  The 
sin  of  gluttony  be  on  your  head,  Simp- 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         47 

kins,  for  we  all  repeated  our  orders. 
But  we  became  acquainted,  and  that  was 
a  blessing — or  a  curse. 

Moira  and  Dorothy  talked  about 
themselves — or  rather  Dorothy  talked 
and  Moira  smiled  and  I  looked,  but 
did  not  listen  much.  But  I  heard 
enough  to  learn  that  they  were  both 
Chicago  girls,  and  that  was  something. 
Moira's  father  was  not  unknown  to  me, 
at  least  I  had  drunk  his  Eureka  beer, 
and  passed  his  big  green  stone  house  in 
Michigan  Avenue  ;  but  I  thought  that 
Bracker  was  an  impossible  name  for 
such  a  girl  as  Moira.  No  wonder  she 
took  Marston  for  a  stage  name. 

Dorothy  talked  a  great  deal  in  her 
quiet  way.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  she 
came  to  college  to  study — and  Moira  to 
get  away  from  home. 

But  I  paid  little  attention  to  Doro 
thy's  earnest  views  of  life,  I  tried  to 
listen,  but  my  eyes  were  drawn  else 
where. 


48         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Yes,  Moira,  girl  though  you  were,  you 
owned  me,  even  then.  Do  you  remem 
ber  that  short-cut  to  the  town  through 
that  old  cemetery — the  "boneyard"  we 
fellows  called  it?  Do  you  remember 
that  wintry  day,  too?  The  winding,  icy 
path  glistens  in  the  sunlight  ;  the  wind 
whirs  through  the  naked  trees,  and  a 
snowy  counterpane,  rumpled  by  graves, 
tented  here  and  there  by  grim  head 
stones,  spreads  over  the  rolling  earth  to 
the  frozen  lake. 

Down  the  path  you  rush,  slipping, 
sliding  ;  your  laughter  peals  clear  on 
the  frosty  air. 

You  '11  fall,  I  wager  you  do.  There 
you  go.  No,  lucky  escape.  That 's 
right.  Throw  your  arms  round  that 
granite  shaft  for  support,  you  're  ex 
hausted. 

" I  hate  tombs,  Guy!"  you  exclaim 
between  your  gasps.  "  I  hate  death  and 
dead  people.  Why  did  you  bring  me 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         49 

here?  Let 's  sing,  Guy  ;  let 's  wake  up 
these  dry  bones." 

A  rollicking  song  swells  from  your 
lips  ;  over  the  snow-covered  ground  you 
dance  recklessly,  dance  until  you  stag 
ger  from  dizziness.  I  would  not  be  a 
man  did  I  not  hold  you  in  my  arms  and 
kiss  your  glowing  cheeks. 

I  see  the  glint  of  teeth  between  your 
lips." 

"Don't,  Guy,  don't." 

You  struggle  and  push  me  back  and 
laugh.  Then  you  fly  on  down  the  path, 
and  I  rush  after  you. 

"  Guy,"  you  cry,  panting  at  the  bot 
tom;  "I  hate  life  here.  I  am  stifled  in 
these  gloomy  lecture  rooms.  I  'm  get 
ting  desperate.  I  want  to  be  free.  I 
shall  do  something  reckless  soon.  Let's 
elope,  Guy  ;  I  '11  support  you;  I  '11  be  a 
circus  queen  or  a  ballet  girl.  Will  you 
come?" 

"  Yes, — anywhere." 


$O         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Thoughtless,  reckless  girl.  She  had 
not  learned  then  the  dissimulation  she 
practices  now  as  a  fine  art.  No,  I  am 
sure  it  was  merely  a  heedless  impulse 
which  induced  her  to  put  on  men's 
clothes  and  take  another  madcap  girl  to 
the  minstrel  show  at  Argus  Hall.  No 
wonder  it  got  to  the  faculty.  I  suppose 
she  thought  she  could  disguise  herself, 
but  all  the  students  recognized  her  im 
mediately.  Even  the  end- men  saw 
what  was  up  and  cracked  jokes  about  it, 
while  Moira  sat  there  and  tried  to  brazen 
it  out. 

How  quickly  the  faculty  hurried  them 
both  out  of  town,  and  tried  to  hush  the 
matter  up,  but  of  course  it  got  into  the 
papers  with  all  the  names  and  exagger 
ated  details. 

As  I  think  of  that  escapade  now,  I 
can  sympathize  with  Moira  for  refusing 
to  go  home  in  disgrace.  It  was  easy 
for  a  pretty  girl  to  get  on  the  stage,  es 
pecially  when  she  had  natural  talent, 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.          5  I 

and  had  created  so  much  newspaper 
talk;  but  I  was  keenly  mortified  at  the 
time. 

Yet  there  is  no  use  worrying  over  by 
gones.     She  passed  out  of  my  life  then. 


I  am  tired  of  that  portrait  of  Miss 
McSweeney.  I  shall  send  it  home  to 
morrow.  Curious  d'Argenteuil  should 
have  liked  it.  He  seldom  likes  any 
thing  except  his  own  cynical  epi 
grams  and  scoffs.  But  the  picture 
has  some  merit.  I  can  see  it  myself. 
If  I  were  not  so  infernally  lazy  I  might 
do  something  really  creditable  again. 
I  am  at  a  standstill  in  my  work.  I 
ought  to  go  on  developing.  A  man  has 
no  excuse  for  living  on  the  reputation 
of  a  few  medals. 

I  wonder  why  I  am  myself,  anyway  ? 
This  I  is  loathsome.  Why  can't  I 
throw  myself  out  of  myself  ?  My  per 
sonality  is  one  network  of  blemishes, 


52         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

and  I  made  them.  I  hacked  and 
scratched,  but  when  I  try  to  erase  I 
find  the  marks  as  ineffaceable  as  the 
flaws  in  an  emerald.  No  wonder  imper 
sonality  is  the  Buddhist's  ideal,  yet  the 
surest  argument  against  Nirvana  is  the 
slavery  in  which  self  binds  us.  Is  it 
not  after  all  the  slavery  of  a  lover  to  his 
mistress;  to  an  inexorable  mistress  who 
plagues  and  tantalizes,  but  who  is  loved 
because  her  actions  are  uncontrollable, 
her  nature  fathomless. 

Guy  Wharton,  you  are  an  artist — 
proof  sufficient  that  you  are  not  a  phi 
losopher.  So  there 's  an  end  to  specula 
tion. 

I  might  find  consolation  in  another 
pipe.  Well,  here  goes. 


Moira,  you  tempter,  keep  out  of  my 
thoughts. 

Where  are  you,  Dorothy?  You  seem 
but  a  shimmer,  faint  and  undefined. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.          53 

There  you  are.  Take  form  and  let  us 
wander  through  the  gorge  which  flanks 
the  college  ;  let  us  scramble  down  the 
scraggy  fern-girt  path,  over  the  rustic 
foot-bridge,  past  the  glistening  water 
fall  to  that  nook  where  the  stream  flows 
deep  and  the  willows  trail  in  the  water. 

Now,  you  lean  against  a  tree  and 
dabble  your  hand  in  a  pool;  the  sun 
light  streaming  through  the  leaves  forms 
weird  shadows  on  your  face.  The  cas 
cade  rumbles,  the  eddies  gleam.  No, 
Dorothy,  I  did  not  love  you  then.  Per 
haps  that  is  why  the  memory  of  that  day 
is  indistinct.  The  grandeur  of  a  nature 
such  as  yours  dawns  slowly. 

We  were  friends  then  because  you 
had  been  Moira's  friend.  I  listened 
eagerly  because  you  talked  of  her. 

"  Her  life  is  ruined,"  you  said.  "  But 
who  was  responsible?  Impetuous  Moira 
whose  heart  has  as  many  notes  as  an 
organ,  or  her  parents  who  played  noth 
ing  but  discords?" 


54         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"And  what  of  her  future?"  I  asked. 

"You  men  will  pay  the  penalty  of 
her  parents'  blindness. 

"  How  so?  " 

"She  will  be  a  dangerous  woman." 

"Unless  she  meets  the  right  man." 

"Who  must  laugh  when  she  laughs, 
sympathize  when  she  cries,  and  smile 
when  she  pouts." 

I  did  not  answer.  Picking  up  a  stone 
I  shied  it  over  the  water,  then  watched 
it  skip  from  eddy  to  eddy. 

"I  suppose  some  day  she  will  meet 
that  man,"  I  said  finally. 

"She  is  far  more  likely  to  meet  a  fool 
and  make  him  miserable." 

"You  are  bitter." 

"  No,  but  you  men  usually  love  the 
women  you  cannot  respect,  and  respect 
the  women  you  cannot  love.  You  paint 
your  ideal  in  neutral  tints.  She  is  a  cod 
dled,  silly  creature  in  whom  ignorance 
is  disguised  as  purity,  and  when  you 
meet  her  of  course  you  cannot  love  her. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL  55 

The  true  woman  you  pass  unnoticed 
because  she  is  simply  herself,  and  in  the 
end  you  are  made  miserable  by  uncon 
scionable  flesh  and  blood." 

"  You  seem  unduly  wise  for  a  girl,"  I 
said,  impatiently.  "  But  is  not  your 
ideal  man  neutral  tinted  also?" 

"  I  suppose  so,  as  he  is  unlike  any 
man  I  have  ever  known.  But  that 
really  matters  little,  as  I  never  expect 
to  meet  him." 

"  Yet  men  will  love  you." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no ;  I  am  not  the  sort  of 
girl  men  fall  in  love  with  ;  I  am  too 
serious." 

"That  is  because  you  take  life  too  seri< 
ously.  You  expect  too  much  of  love." 

"  Yes,  I  expect  far  more  than  most 
men  can  give  a  woman."  Then  she 
turned  her  head  away  thoughtfully. 

"  You  are  young,  Guy,  do  n't  be  like 
other  men,  then  some  day  you  may 
realize  how  grandly  a  woman  can  love 
the  man  she  respects." 


56         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL 

Curious  conversation,  was  it  not?  It 
was  the  last  we  had  together  before  I 
left  old  Alma  Mater  and  went  to  Paris 
to  study  under  Viraut.  I  was  young 
then  and  thought  it  manly  to  lead  a 
man's  life.  I  am  like  the  rest  now,  bad 
and  irredeemable,  I  suppose. 

And  yet  you  love  me,  Dorothy, 
though  you  must  despise  me.  Could 
your  love  redeem  me? 

I  doubt  it. 

Love!     What  is  it  ? 

A  flame,  they  say.  A  capricious 
flame  one  kindles  to  warm  a  shiver 
ing  heart.  Anxiously  the  first  sparks 
are  nursed,  carefully  the  little  blaze 
is  fanned  in  anticipation  of  warmth 
and  comfort;  but  a  gust  of  ennui  ex 
tinguishes  those  fitful  sparks,  or  a  pas 
sionate  gale  rouses  them  into  a  mighty 
conflagration  which  consumes  the  heart. 
How  few  ever  kindle  a  cosy  hearth 
fire! 

Bah!    That  sounds  like  d'Argenteuil. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.          57 

How  he  likes  to  play  the  role  of  vol 
unteer  fireman!  From  a  mind  charged 
with  caustic  cynicism  he  turns  hot 
streams  of  epigram  upon  the  blazing 
hearts  of  his  friends. 

Where  is  that  book  he  had  when  I 
came  in?  Perhaps  reading  would  make 
me  sleepy. 

Oh,  there  it  is,  with  "A  Rebours " 
printed  across  its  yellow  cover.  Appro 
priate  title.  The  author  himself  takes 
life  the  wrong  way.  Appropriate  book 
for  d'Argenteuil  to  read,  too.  It  ought 
to  give  him  the  horrors.  This  char 
acter,  Des  Esseintes  is  so  like  himself, 
or  like  what  he  will  be  when  one  day  he 
tries  in  vain  to  re-ignite  the  passions 
which  have  ceased  to  sizzle  and  fume  in 
that  burnt  clay  retort  which  serves  him 
for  a  heart. 

Yes,  d'Argenteuil  is  a  typical  decad 
ent.  He  suffers  from  the  maladie  fin  de 
siecle. 

But  this  "A  Rebours  "  of   Huysman's 


58         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

is  a  fascinating  book,  fascinating  be 
cause  of  its  hectic  tones,  its  mental  de 
bauches,  its  weird  harmonies  of  passion. 
It  is  a  camera  obscura  of  the  senses,  from 
which  the  light  of  day  is  excluded,  where 
the  ravings  of  a  diseased  brain  flit  before 
one  in  fantastic  forms  and  everything  is, 
as  the  title  suggests,  upside  down. 

Yes;  this  book  expresses  an  epoch,  a 
decaying  epoch  ;  but  I  wonder  if  it 
really  typifies  this  closing  century.  Are 
we  dry-rotting  because  the  gardeners  of 
the  age  have  forced  the  growth  of  our 
intellects  and  exhausted  our  mental  sap? 
Is  the  glorious  bloom  of  the  nineteenth 
century  to  be  followed  by  withering 
leaves  and  decaying  branches? 

If  so,  it  is  only  history  repeating  it 
self.  Take  this  description  of  a  book 
in  des  Esseintes'  heteroclitic  library: 
"The  Satyricon  of  Petronius,"  a  story 
of  the  declining  period  of  Roman  glory; 
"unrolling  the  minute  existence  of  the 
people,  their  actions,  their  bestialities." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.          59 

"In  the  pages  of  that  book  Roman 
society  tramps  through  luxurious  villas, 
insolent  with  splendour,  delirious  with 
riches;  it  slinks  through  pauper  tene 
ments  with  rumpled  flea-infested  beds 
of  sacking.  Rascally,  plunder  search 
ing  sharpers,  old  paint-smeared  hags 
with  plastered  cheeks  and  tucked  up 
skirts,  plump  frizzled  wenches  of  six 
teen  years  ;  hysterical  women  and  for 
tune  hunting  parents  who  pander  their 
offspring  to  the  orgie  loving  rich  ;  all 
these  file  through  those  pages,  quarrel 
ling  in  the  streets,  rubbing  shoulders  in 
the  baths,  and  pummelling  one  another 
as  in  a  pantomime." 

That  was  Rome,  but  might  it  not  be 
glittering,  seething  Paris,  city  of  bou 
doirs  and  barricades? 

Yes.  But  where  are  the  hordes  of 
flat-nosed  barbarians,  with  gashed 
cheeks  and  hairy  saffron  faces,  who 
sit  astride  their  wiry  ponies,  wrapped 
\n  rat  skin  cloaks,  waiting  by  the 


6O         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Danube's  banks  for  the  moment  to 
sweep  down  and  crush  out  our  puny 
civilization?  Perhaps  they  are  among 
us  now.  Wild  eyed  savages  with  un 
kempt  hair  and  greasy  coats,  slouched 
hats  and  frowzy  beards— untamed  beasts 
in  human  guise,  with  bombs  and  gleam 
ing  daggers  hidden  beneath  their 
cloaks,  who  skulk  through  the  by-ways 
of  civilization,  biding  the  hour  of  anni 
hilation. 

In  the  meantime  I  must  sleep  and 
eat,  and  die  perhaps,  so  I  might  as  well 
read  on.  Yet  I  hate  to  read  this  book. 
Too  much  of  my  own  life  is  recalled, 
too  much  of  those  student  days  in  Paris, 
when  love  was  a  matter  of  a  moment,  or 
an  hour.  Moira  did  not  own  me  then, 
but  was  I  any  the  better?  I  was  lead 
ing  a  manly  life  I  thought,  and  paying 
the  penalty  too. 

This  picture  for  instance  : 

"Through  partly  opened  doors  and 
windows  badly  screened  by  panes  of 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         6 1 

colored  glass  or  flimsy  sash  curtains  he 
remembered  catching  glimpses  of  wo 
men  waddling  like  geese,  with  out 
stretched  necks,  or  slumped  on  benches 
musing,  humming,  with  their  elbows  on 
the  marble  tables,  and  their  cheeks  be 
tween  their  hands.  Some  prinked  be 
fore  the  mirrors  and  fingered  their  friz 
zled  false  hair,  while  others  drawing 
handfuls  of  silver  and  copper  pieces 
from  weak  springed  reticules,  ranged 
them  methodically  in  little  piles.  Most 
of  them  had  massive  features,  rasping 
voices,  soft  necks  and  pencilled  eyes, 
and  all  seemed  like  wax  figures,  wound 
up  at  the  same  time  by  the  same  key,  to 
launch  the  same  solicitations  in  similar 
tones,  to  detail  the  same  whimsical 
small  talk  and  droll  reflections." 

It  was  in  such  a  place  I  met  Lioba. 

I  wonder  if  it  was  her  fresh,  young 
face,  so  different  from  the  rest,  which 
attracted  me;  or  was  it  those  flashing 
Muscovite  eyes  which  glowed  like  burn- 


62        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

ing  coals  one  moment,  and  the  next 
threw  glances  full  of  tenderness? 

I  can  see  her  sitting  opposite  me  at  a 
little  marble  table,  stirring  the  cherry- 
colored  sirup  in  her  glass,  her  crimped 
yellow  hair  falling  from  under  a  huge 
hat,  resplendent  with  barbaric  colors; 
her  black,  curling  eyelashes  drooping 
sadly  for  the  moment. 

Lioba,  you  panther,  stop  purring. 
Toss  back  your  head.  Let  me  see  your 
eyes  gleam. 


Curious!  these  memories  of  the  past 
which  come  to  me  to-night.  Lioba  has 
not  entered  my  thoughts  for  months — 
years  perhaps,  yet  she  played  her  quick, 
active  part  in  those  student  days  in 
Paris.  She  overwhelmed  me  like  a 
fierce  blast  from  her  native  steppes,  but 
she  left  me  as  suddenly  as  she  came;  left 
me  for  the  Champs  Elyse"es  quarter  and 
a  victoria. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         63 

Back,  Lioba,  out  of  my  thoughts. 
You  were  only  a  passing  fancy. 

But  a  vivid  fancy  to-night.  Now  we 
glide  over  the  polished  floor  of  the  Bal- 
Gerard.  Round  and  round  we  whirl. 
Sensuous  strains  roll  from  the  Tzigan 
cymballos — the  lights  glare  confusedly 
— the  air  is  dense  with  smoke.  Shouts! 
laughter!  echo  through  the  room.  On, 
on  we  dance,  your  glowing  cheeks  next 
mine,  until  we  sink  exhausted. 

Ugh !  The  next  morning  I  had  a 
splitting  headache.  I  painted  in  a  list 
less,  dazed  way,  and  Viraut  lost  his 
tempef. 


Dear  old  Viraut !  Many  a  time  you 
have  found  fault  with  my  bad  work,  but 
I  love  you  in  spite  of  everything.  Yes, 
I  owe  you  for  my  slight  success,  for  the 
little  art  I  have.  That  "Birth  of  Spring" 
you  made  me  paint  without  suggestions 
— a  laughing  nymph  peeping  through 


64        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

the  apple  blossoms  as  the  snows  of  win 
ter  melt  away — it  was  refused  at  the 
Salon.  You  made  me  paint  it  again, 
half  its  former  size,  and  with  less  detail. 
It  was  accepted  and  skied.  You  patted 
me  on  the  back  and  called  it  good. 
That  fancy  of  the  following  year  :  The 
slight  nude  figure  of  a  girl  with  black 
stockings,  black  gloves,  and  a  black 
mask  before  the  eyes;  it  hung  on  the 
line  and  attracted  the  crowd;  but  you 
frowned  and  called  it  bad.  It  was 
merely  a  trick  to  gain  notoriety,  you 
said ;  but  when  I  finally  won  my  third- 
class  medal  by  a  piece  of  earnest,  careful 
work,  I  believe  you  were  more  pleased 
than  I. 

Yes,  Viraut,  you  told  me  to  keep  right 
on  putting  my  soul  into  my  work,  with 
art  for  my  mistress.  I  fear  art  has  been 
only  my  pastime  since  then,  my  solace 
for  a  troubled  heart.  My  work  shows  it. 

I  wish  I  were  back  again  ;  a  student 
in  the  atelier. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND   A    FOOL.         65 

I  wish  I  could  ring  at  the  huge 
weather-worn  door  and  wait  until  I  hear 
the  click  of  the  bolt  as  it  is  jerked  back 
by  a  wire  from  the  concierge's  room. 
The  door  swings  partly  open,  a  cold 
blast  rushes  through  the  stone  archway 
leading  to  the  courtyard,  bearing  with 
it  an  odor  of  frying  grease  and  garlic. 
Completely  filling  her  little  doorway 
stands  Madame  Michelet,  her  keen  black 
eyes  almost  hidden  by  rolls  of  ruddy 
flesh,  long  straggling  hairs  growing  in 
patches  on  her  quadrupled  chin.  An 
apron  string  drawn  tight  about  her 
coarse  blue  gown  gives  her  bulging  form 
the  appearance  of  a  meal  sack.  "  Bon 
jour  M'sieur  Wharton,"  she  gurgles  in 
rasping  tones,  then  she  turns  to  her  lit 
tle  stove,  where  an  iron  stew  pan  is 
steaming.  Through  the  cold,  vaulted 
passage  my  steps  resound,  and  then  I 
tramp  across  the  cobble  stones  of  the 
courtyard,  where  the  sunlight  glistens 
in  the  water  of  an  old  stone  fountain — 


66         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

a  moss  grown  scollop-shell  supported 
by  two  smudge  faced  cupids  with  their 
noses  hacked  away.  A  rusty  iron  pal 
ing  and  a  patch  of  vivid  grass  surround 
the  basin  ;  grimy  white-washed  walls 
with  mansard  roofs  frown  down  upon 
me. 

Across  the  courtyard  is  the  low  door 
way,  where  a  well  worn  stairway  leads 
upward  to  the  atelier.  A  blue-bloused 
ouvrier  shuffles  past  me  humming  an 
air  of  the  people  ;  scarlet  geraniums 
bloom  upon  the  window  ledge  of  Pierre 
Noir's  little  paint  shop,  and  through  a 
neighboring  window  is  echoed  the 
measured  clicking  of  a  tombstone  sculp 
tor's  chisel.  Now  my  steps  creak  as  I 
slowly  mount  those  dingy  stairs  past 
smoky  walls  with  coarse  caricatures 
daubed  on  the  plaster.  An  uproar  of 
laughter,  shouts,  cat  calls,  swells  from 
the  atelier  above,  and  then  for  deviltry 
I  imitate  dear  old  Viraut's  step.  The 
fellows  hear  me  ;  sudden  silence  reigns. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         67 

I  reach  the  landing  of  the  second  floor, 
where  some  would  be  wag  has  scrawled 
on  both  doors  the  words,  "  Open  the 
other  door,"  then  stealthily  I  enter  and 
hang  my  coat  behind  the  screen  in 
Viraut's  favorite  place.  I  grunt  and 
cough,  and  laugh  to  myself,  as  I  listen  to 
the  measured  grating  of  the  crayons.  But 
alas,  a  curly  headed  little  Marseillese  dis 
covers  the  fraud,  and  then  what  a  chorus 
of  shouts  and  hisses,  what  a  volley  of 
bread,  charcoal,  chalk  and  everything 
"throwable."  What  does  it  matter?  I 
am  there  among  my  companions,  the 
friends  whom  I  love — and  hate,  some  of 
them,  for  there  are  all  kinds. 

But  those  are  only  memories. 

I  cannot  wish  myself  back  again. 

Is  my  imagination  keener  than  most, 
I  wonder?  Perhaps  an  artistic  temper 
ament  is  over-sensitive,  and  that  is  why 
memories,  fancies,  regrets  hurtle  through 
my  brain,  surging,  clashing,  tormenting, 
when  I  want  to  sleep.  Yes,  I  worry  too 


68        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

much.  I  analyze  too  much;  but  I  sup 
pose  I  shall  continue  this  minute  dis 
section  of  my  feelings  until  only  a 
grinning  skeleton  remains  to  terrify  me. 


Hallo!  That  was  something  like  a 
yawn.  I  think  I  '11  turn  in. 

One  never  can  find  a  match.  Where 
are  they,  anyway?  Idiot!  You  forgot 
the  electric  light.  Oh,  well,  I  never 
shall  grow  used  to  this  new-fangled  ex 
istence.  I  am  regulated  entirely  by  an 
electric  key  board.  I  fairly  pine  for  a 
tallow  dip  and  a  pair  of  rickety  stairs 
to  climb. 

How  life  here  has  changed  since  I 
was  a  boy. 

I  suppose  one  living  here  continu 
ously  would  not  notice  it  so  much,  but 
coming  back  as  I  do  after  years  of 
absence,  nothing  seems  in  its  place. 
Everything  has  expanded  out  and  grown 
upward.  The  city  has  shaken  off  its 


TWO   WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         69 

simple  chrysalis,  it  has  pierced  the 
clouds  with  its  lanky,  towering  tentacles, 
and  spread  forth  its  suburb-mottled 
wings.  But  grimy  Chicago  is  scarcely 
a  butterfly ;  it  is  more  like  a  seething 
ant-hill. 

Why  invent  stupid  metaphors  and 
similes? 

I  left  a  Chicago  of  wooden  sidewalks 
and  picket  fences,  I  find  a  Chicago  of 
cobble  stones  and  cable  cars.  In  the 
place  of  lapping  boards  and  green 
blinds  are  granite  and  brick;  instead  of 
tinkling  bells  on  sleepy  car  horses, 
noisy,  clanging  gongs.  Quiet  has  given 
place  to  uproar;  simplicity  to  magni 
tude. 


There!  I  hope  the  thud  of  those 
shoes  will  wake  up  that  real  estate  man 
on  the  floor  below. 

Lean,  sallow-faced  shark,  how  many 
widows  has  he  robbed,  how  many  streets 


70         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

has  he  disfigured  with  sign  boards?  I 
hate  his  vulgar  personality.  When  I 
meet  him  swaggering  in  the  street  with 
hat  on  one  side,  I  am  tempted  to  knock 
the  long  cigar  out  of  his  thin  lips. 

Where  did  that  slavey  put  my  paja 
mas?  Oh,  there  they  are  on  the  lounge. 
She  '11  be  putting  them  on  the  shelf 
next. 

By  Jove,  I  'm  tired.  How  good  this 
bed  feels.  I  wish  I  felt  sleepy. 

Moira,  I  won  't  think  about  you.  I 
want  to  sleep.  "To-morrow  you  may 
come  back."  I  won't  go  back. 

Rub  a  dub,  rub  a  dub  dub  !  Keep  it 
up  you  infernal  steam-pipe. 

How  shall  I  pose  Mrs.  Driscoll?  Of 
course  she  wants  to  show  her  neck.  It 's 
her  only  good  point.  Why  do  plain 
women  have  their  portraits  painted? 
Because  they  want  to  be  flattered  into 
believing  they  look  like  their  portraits. 
Fancy  painting  a  woman  as  plain  as  she 
is.  One  would  never  get  another  order. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         Jl 

Confound  that  steam  pipe,  it  will 
drive  me  mad.  Dorothy,  you  dear, 
brave  girl,  I  know  I  am  unworthy,  but 
do  n't  look  at  me  so  reproachfully.  I 
will  come  back.  I  won't  see  her  again. 
No,  I  do  n't  love  her.  She  fascinates 
me.  She  arouses  the  worst  side  of  my 
nature. 

I  won't  breakfast  with  d'Argenteuil. 
I  do  n't  want  to  see  the  Exposition 
again.  I  want  to  keep  the  memory  of 
that  night  with  Dorothy  on  the  lagoons 
as  the  last  impression. 

By  Jove,  I  forgot  to  dine  at  the  Morri 
son's  to-day,  and  I  made  the  appoint 
ment.  What  lie  shall  I  tell  her? 

Is  that  fat  man  overhead  walking  to 
reduce  his  flesh?  That's  right! — drop 
your  boots  on  the  floor. 

Moira,  with  your  fluttering  skirts  and 
dazzling  eyes,  don't  do  that  dance. 
Muriel,  you  little  witch,  do  n't  lie  on 
the  lounge  and  spread  out  your  golden 
curls.  I  know  you  're  a  good  model 


72        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

and  I  intend  to  paint  you,  but  I  want  to 
sleep  now. 

You  do  n't  know  what  lives  we  men 
lead,  Dorothy  ;  you  'd  hate  me  if  you 
did. 

Oh,  damn  it,  I  can  't  sleep !  I  am 
going  to  get  up  and  read. 


How  wide  awake  I  am.  I  do  n't  be 
lieve  I  shall  ever  be  sleepy  again. 
Where  are  those  slippers?  I  hope  that 
bath  gown  is  in  the  closet.  Yes,  for  a 
wonder,  slavey  put  it  in  its  place. 

A  whiskey  and  soda !  Brilliant 
thought. 

No  drink  wears  like  Scotch,  yet  I  was 
for  years  getting  acquainted  with  it.  So 
many  years  wasted. 

Another  affinity  with  d'Argenteuil, 
we  sampled  the  stuff  together,  made 
wry  faces,  and  ended  by  liking  it.  The 
same  evening  we  went  by  chance  to  the 
Frivolity  Theatre. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         73 

So  Scotch  whiskey  brought  me  back 
to  Moira. 

I  wonder  which  is  the  more  insidious. 
The  one  muddles  me,  the  other  makes 
me  maudlin.  But  this  Highland  stuff 
is  good  nevertheless,  so  here's  to 
Moira's  eyes.*  Eyes  which  excruciate 
and  intoxicate.  Ugly  jaw-breaking 
words.  We'll  try  again.  Here 's  to 
Moira :  delight  of  my  eyes,  torment  of 
my  heart,  poison  of  my  soul — and  to 
Dorothy,  the  antidote!  That  whiskey 
must  be  going  to  my  head.  I  am  grow 
ing  foolish. 

Well,  if  I  had  n't  become  chummy 
with  d'Argenteuil  in  Paris  I  would  not 
have  run  over  to  London  to  visit  him, 
and  if  I  had  not  gone  to  London  I 
could  not  have  gone  to  the  Frivolity 
that  night,  and  if  I  had  not  gone  to  the 
Frivolity  I  would  not  be  suffering 
from  insomnia  now.  Logical  conclu 
sion  derived  a  priori  from  an  if. 


74         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Yes  ;  that  night  I  took  the  first  sip  of 
the  poison.  I  had  been  tempted  before 
at  college. 

We  dined  together  at  the  "Diplo 
matic,"  and  wandered  out  after  dinner 
because  the  Club  seemed  hot  and  stuffy. 
Sauntering  along  Piccadilly,  we  gazed 
idly  at  the  shop  windows  until  the 
lights  of  the  Frivolity  attracted  us. 
"The  Seneschal,"  a  new  comic  opera 
was  on  and  we  strolled  in.  It  was  the 
first  night,  and  a  sign  "Stalls  Full," 
was  displayed  before  the  door ;  but 
d'Argenteuil  knew  the  manager,  who 
gave  us  two  seats  he  had  been  holding 
for  some  swell. 

An  act  was  just  over,  so  we  sauntered 
to  the  bar.  Trim  maids  with  dainty 
caps  and  broad  white  collars  were  open 
ing  soda  bottles.  Why  is  it  that  a  bar 
maid,  howsoever  slight  her  waist,  how 
soever  delicate  her  face,  has  big  red 
hands  ?  A  trade  mark,  I  suppose. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL  75 

Repellant  to  me,  but  not  to  those  sleek 
youths  who  leered  at  the  frizzled-haired 
Hebes  behind  the  bar.  They  were  at 
that  puppy  age  which  thinks  it  manly 
to  ogle  anything  in  petticoats. 

I  preferred  those  portly  men  of 
prominence  with  glossy  heads  and  eye 
glasses,  who  stood  about  in  groups  dis 
cussing  the  piece.  From  the  discordant 
din  of  opinion  which  welled  from  their 
lips,  I  gathered  that  the  opera  was  "not 
bad,"  and  that  the  American  had  made 
a  hit.  But  the  buzzing  of  an  electric  bell 
produced  a  movement  in  the  crowd, 
and  leaving  the  smoke-filled  room  we 
sauntered  up  a  tortuous  flight  of  steps 
to  the  theatre. 

There  diamonds  glistened  on  patri 
cian  heads,  a  hum  of  modulated  voices 
mingled  with  the  rustle  of  satins  and 
mellow  lights  fell  softly  on  blanched 
shirt  fronts  or  delicate  necks;  fell  too  on 
scrawny  shoulders  and  shrivelled  skins, 


76        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

grey  hairs  and  bald  spots ;  but  the  full 
effect  was  a  well-bred,  well-dressed  har 
mony. 

We  stumbled  over  a  few  knees  to  our 
places. 

Up  from  somewhere  came  a  plump 
little  fellow,  bustling  with  importance. 
He  mounted  his  throne  and  raised  his 
sceptre  high  in  air.  Thirty  dutiful  sub 
jects  responded  to  his  call.  His  neck 
grew  red,  his  arms  waved  madly,  fid 
dles  squeaked,  cymbals  clashed,  my  ears 
throbbed — for  I  was  almost  in  the  midst 
of  those  screeching  fiends — then  the 
curtain  rose  and  a  troop  of  laughing 
girls  with  fluffy  curls  and  striped  tights 
rushed  on  dragging  a  loutish  clown  in 
their  wake. 

A  comic  song  and  chorus  with  a 
quaint  droning  accompaniment ;  a  rol 
licking  dance  with  fluttering  skirts  and 
stamping  feet ;  then  down  from  the 
back,  where  real  water  gurgled  over 
painted  rocks,  and  grassy,  chalet-crested 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.          77 

hillocks  rolled  away  to  the  snow-capped 
Alps,  a  girl  came  tripping  across  a  rus 
tic  bride.  Back  scurried  the  chorus — 
"  Margot !  Margot !  "  shouted  the  girls; 
hands  waved,  heads  flurried,  the  fiddles 
crooned,  the  drums  throbbed,  down  to 
the  footlights  she  dashed. 

Reddish  curls  glistened  under  a 
jaunty  peasant  cap,  dimpled  arms  rested 
akimbo  on  a  slender  velvet  corselet,  wee 
feet  in  crimson  stockings  danced  a  cap 
tivating  side  step,  while  the  catchy 
notes  of  a  song  flowed  from  pouting  lips 
and  a  little  head  swayed  bewitchingly 
to  the  music's  rhythm. 

Through  the  flare  of  the  footlights  I 
met  the  glance  of  her  lustrous  eyes. 

A  quick  numbing  sensation  darted 
through  me.  My  pulses  throbbed : 
wild  fancies  filled  my  brain.  Anxiously 
I  glanced  at  the  play  bill.  Part  of  the 
name  was  unfamiliar,  but  Moira  was 
unchanged. 

Curious,    the    power   of    a    random 


78         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

glance  like  that.  It  conjured  memories 
of  a  wintry  day,  a  winding  icy  path  ;  in 
fancy  I  felt  the  soft  glow  of  a  cheek  on 
my  lips. 

The  smile  of  a  little  red-haired  ac 
tress.  That  was  all.  I  may  philoso 
phize  now,  but  to-night?  I  thought 
the  fires  of  that  passion  were  out.  They 
were  only  banked.  I  thought  myself 
strong,  but  those  eyes  owned  me  again 
to-night. 

Fool  ! 

Shall  I  never  be  free? 

Why  not  surrender?  To  struggle 
seems  useless. 

After  all  passion  has  its  sweets  even 
if  the  dregs  are  bitter.  Perhaps  that  is 
the  most  one  can  realize  from  loving. 
The  contentment  with  which  the  thought 
of  Dorothy  has  filled  my  heart  at  times 
seemed  the  realization  of  ideal  love,  but 
it  was  momentary  also.  It  was  pleasant 
in  a  dreamy  way,  but  did  it  satisfy? 

Oh,  well,  there  I  sat  in  the  stalls  that 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         /9 

night  watching  each  play  of  that  little 
face.  Once  our  glances  met.  A  look 
of  wonder,  then  of  recognition,  it 
seemed,  filled  her  eyes.  Did  she  re 
member  me?  Six  years  had  altered 
much.  Soon  the  curtain  fell.  I  heard 
the  applause.  She  bowed  before  the 
footlights.  It  had  seemed  but  a  mo 
ment. 

D'Argenteuil  and  I  wandered  into  the 
foyer.  I  was  thinking.  He  asked  me 
a  question,  but  I  did  not  reply. 

"  You  liked  the  little  American?"  he 
repeated. 

"Yes,"  I  mumbled. 

"  Not  bad,  not  bad.  Ah,  but  Lillian 
Vance!  She  has  repose,  she  has  chic." 

I  did  not  argue.  One  seldom  de 
fends  a  budding  passion,  one  hides  it. 
One  is  more  apt  to  hide  than  defend. 

Ledger,  the  manager,  stood  in  the 
foyer  oozing  self-consequence.  A  jew 
eler  and  a  florist  had  marred  the  gentle 
manly  veneer  of  a  clever  tailor,  while  a 


SO         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

barber  and  perfumer  had  made  him 
positively  obnoxious ;  but  d'Argenteuil 
cultivated  this  personage  for  ulterior 
motives,  so  I  was  introduced  and  added 
my  modicum  of  compliment  on  the 
new  piece  to  the  fulsome  hyperbole  of 
my  friend. 

"  It  is  n't  the  piece,  gentlemen,"  said 
Ledger.  "  It 's  the  company  which 
goes  with  the  public.  This  piece  failed 
in  Paris.  The  Johnnies  over  there  didn't 
put  it  on  properly.  Now  I  take  it  and 
have  the  book  rewritten  with  plenty  of 
local  gags.  My  conductor — I  pay  him 
thirty  quid  a  week,  but  he  's  worth  it — 
writes  three  songs,  and  a  ballet  for  the 
second  act ;  then  I  engage  the  best 
company  money  can  buy  ;  Charley 
Willis  stages  it,  and  you  would  n't 
know  it  for  the  same  piece.  This  pro 
duction  cost  me  .£3,000  before  the  cur 
tain  went  up,  but  it 's  worth  every  bob 
I  've  put  in.  Good  for  three  hundred 
nights  sure.  I  tell  you,  gentlemen, 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         8 1 

it  takes  genius  to  put  a  piece  on  prop- 
erly. 

"  I  compliment  you ;"  said  d' Argen- 
teuil.  "  And  ze  artistes  !  Excellent  1 
Vance  she  make  a  beautiful  success," 

"  Oh,  Vance  is  well  enough,  but  she'H 
be  out  of  the  running  soon.  Novelty. 
That's  what  the  public  wants.  There  's 
that  American,  Moira  Marston ;  she  '11 
be  the  talk  of  the  town  to-morrow. 
That  's  where  genius  comes  in.  I  keep 
an  agent  in  New  York.  He  wrote  me 
about  her.  I  cabled  an  offer,  accepted, 
and  here  I  am  with  a  success  before 
these  slow  going  duffers  here  knew  she 
existed.  I  lived  in  the  States  ten  years, 
and  learned  how  to  '  hustle'  there." 

Then  his  little  twitching  eyes  beamed, 
and  a  triumphant  smile  crossed  his 
coarse  lips. 

"I  knew  her  before  she  went  on  the 
stage,"  I  vouchsafed. 

"  Then  you're  the  man  I  'm  looking 
for,  come  with  me,  I  'm  going  back  to 
6 


82         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

encourage  her.  She  's  dreadfully  ner 
vous,  London  appearance  means  every 
thing  in  the  profession.  She  '11  be  glad 
to  see  some  one  she  knows.  And  mon- 
soor  too;  he's  been  there  before  ;  can't 
tell  him  much  about  London  even  if  he 
is  a  Frenchman,  Eh,  Monsoor  !" 

D'Argenteuil  smiled  deprecatingly. 
He  found  it  an  effort  to  endure  Ledger's 
familiarity. 

"Going  back  on  a  first  night  aint 
according  to  rules ; "  said  the  manager, 
"  but  we  '11  have  to  make  an  exception 
for  monsoor.  He 's  got  a  girl  back 
there.  She's  getting  jealous  of  Mars- 
ton,  and  monsoor  may  calm  her  down. 
Come,  on  gentlemen,  we  have  n't  much 
time." 

Following  Ledger  we  threaded  our 
way  through  the  crowded  foyer  to  a 
little  door  back  of  the  proscenium 
boxes.  Stumbling  down  a  few  steps 
we  groped  through  a  darkened  passage 
and  finally  reached  the  stage. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         83 

"  Stop  here  tUl  I  find  where  Marston 
dresses,"  said  Ledger. 

I  glanced  about  me  curiously. 

Burly  stage  hands  rushed  past  me 
dragging  great  flapping  pieces  of  scenery 
into  place.  Fanned  by  chilly  draughts 
the  huge  curtain  swayed  gently  to  and 
fro.  The  dust  from  a  dozen  brooms 
filled  my  nostrils;  scurrying  steps,  oaths, 
the  pounding  of  hammers,  mingled  dis 
cordantly.  Through  gloomy  recesses 
grotesque  figures  groped  weirdly,  while 
the  flickering  border  lights  above  threw 
a  shadowy  glare  into  dismal  lofts,  where 
drops,  flies  and  stage  tackle  were  jumbled 
in  mazelike  confusion. 

In  the  centre  of  the  stage  a  thick  set 
little  man  was  swaggering.  He  had  a 
brutish  cast  of  countenance  ;  his  hands 
were  in  his  pockets  and  his  hat  was 
sidewise. 

"Look  alive  there  'Arry,"  he  called 
gruffly  to  a  sweltering  workman,  who 
was  struggling  under  the  weight  of  a 


84        TWO    WOMEN    AND   A    FOOL. 

tottering  wing ;  "  There  you  bloomin' 
ass,  you've  tore  that  sky  border." 

Tumbling  up  a  rickety  flight  of  steps 
from  the  depths  below  came  a  troop  of 
girls.  They  brushed  past  me,  and  met 
my  glance  with  a  brazen  stare.  Bold, 
defiant  faces,  most  of  them  had,  with 
blackened  eyes  and  paint  daubs  on  their 
cheeks,  bare  necks  caked  with  powder, 
and  coarse,  curly  yellow  wigs.  They 
joked,  giggled,  huddled  together,  and 
passed  on  into  the  gloom  of  the 
wings. 

Among  them  I  noticed  a  face  still 
fresh,  despite  the  make  up  and  gaudy 
tunic.  Those  eyes  drooped  beneath  my 
gaze.  I  fancied  I  detected  a  blush 
under  the  paint  and  powder.  Yes — 
and  a  year  later  I  met  that  face  again  ; 
it  was  like  the  rest. 

"This  way,"  called  Ledger  at  my 
elbow  ;  "  Mind  that  bunch  light." 

D'Argenteuil  had  stolen  away.  Under 
Ae  eaves  of  a  canvas  house  he  stood 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         8$ 

talking  in  low  tones  with  a  plump, 
blonde  haired  girl,  in  doublet  and  long 
hose. 

I  followed  Ledger. 

He  stopped  near  the  complicated 
array  of  handles  by  which  the  lights 
were  managed,  and  rapped  at  a  low 
battered  door. 

"Come  in;"  called  a  woman's  voice. 

He  entered,  and  I  followed  hesitat 
ingly,  stopping  for  a  moment  on  the 
threshold. 

The  room  was  three  cornered  and 
small,  with  white-washed  walls  and 
plain  carpeted  floor.  A  gas  jet  guarded 
by  a  cage  of  wire  burned  brilliantly  near 
the  dressing  table,  where  rouge  pots 
and  powder  puffs,  brushes  and  crimp 
ing  irons  were  scattered  in  confusion. 
Seated  before  the  mirror  was  Moira. 
She  was  adjusting  a  huge  Gainsborough 
hat,  with  bobbing  plumes  of  fluffy 
ostrich  feathers.  A  trim  maid  was 
hanging  a  dress  against  the  whitened 


86        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

wall,  where  multicolored  garments  were 
stretched  on  a  row  of  hooks.  Near  the 
door  was  a  huge  iron-bound  trunk, 
plastered  over  with  numerous  labels. 

Moira  glanced  up. 

"Oh  Mr.  Ledger,  I'm  so  nervous, 
tell  me  something  encouraging.  Is  the 
piece  going  well  ?  " 

"  I  've  news,  but  I  am  not  going  to 
tell  you.  It  might  spoil  you." 

"Do,  please  do;"  she  said  excitedly. 

"Well,  the  Prince  sent  his  equerry  to 
inquire  about  you.  Vance  is  tearing 
mad." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  ;  then  it  is  going." 

"Three  hundred  quid  in  the  house. 
Two  recalls  for  Miss  Marston." 

"  They  were  so  kind  to  me  were  n't 
they?  When  they  called  me  out,  I  wanted 
to  tell  them  all  that  I  loved  them — 
every  one.  Where's  that  pin,  Parker? 
The  one  with  the  amber  knob." 

Thinking  I  was  forgotten,  I  coughed 
slightly. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         87 

Ledger  was  standing  near  Moira.  He 
rested  his  hand  familiarly  on  her 
shoulder.  "  I  forgot,  I  have  a  surprise 
for  you,  my  dear,  an  old  friend,  Mr. 
—Mr.—" 

"Guy  Wharton!"  Moira  exclaimed. 
"Of  all  people,  you — where  did  you 
come  from?  I  thought  I  saw  you  in 
the  stalls,  but  I  wasn't  sure." 

"  Well,  you  two  know  the  ropes ;" 
said  Ledger.  "  Three  is  a  crowd,  so 
I  '11  go  back  in  front.  Can  you  find  the 
way,  sir?" 

"I'll  look  after  him,"  said  Moira. 
"  I  'm  tremendously  glad  to  see  you. 
Don't  mind  the  muss  here,  Guy.  Sit 
down — well  anywhere;  on  the  trunk 
there.' 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  not  remem 
ber  me." 

I  wanted  to  say  something  else,  but  I 
was  in  that  state  of  excitement  in  which 
the  most  trivial  platitude  was  all  my 
tongue  could  master. 


88        TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Forget  you,  Guy ;  how  could  I  ? 
You  were  my  first  love." 

She  laughed.    I  felt  color  in  my  cheek. 

"Well,"  she  said;  "why  do  n't  you 
say  something  pretty  after  that?" 

"  I  can  say  more  than  you,  and  say  it 
truthfully.  You  are  my  only  love." 

"  Oh,  Guy,  you  absurd,  naughty  boy, 
keep  such  lies  for  some  girl  who  will 
believe  them.  I  've  had  six  years'  ex 
perience  since  you  knew  me." 

"  Which  have  made  you  six  times 
more  fascinating." 

"  Then  how  dull  I  must  have  been 
when  you  knew  me.  But  no  more  non 
sense.  Come  here,  out  of  that  dark 
corner,  you  are  too  far  away.  I  want  to 
look  at  you.  Handsome  as  ever,  Guy. 
You  are  pretty  enough  to  kiss." 

"And  willing  enough  also." 

"  Cheeky  as  ever;  but  tell  me  about 
yourself.  I  have  enough  foolishness 
from  others.  Living  in  London?" 

"No,  Paris;  I  am  an  artist." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         89 

"  So  am  I;  but  art  covers  a  multitude 
of  sins;  what  kind?" 

"  Painter." 

"So  am  I;"  she  laughed,  as  she  gave 
a  final  touch  of  rouge  to  her  cheek. 

"  But  I  idealize  nature;"  I  said, 
"while  nature  has  idealized  you. 
Your  art  is  superfluous;  it  is  false." 

"  Like  my  hair.    Do  n't  be  silly,  Guy." 

There  was  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door. 

"  Oh,  dear,  that 's  my  cue.  I  've  such  a 
lot  to  talk  about.  You  must  come  and  live 
in  London.  You  can  be  my  big  brother." 

"  Never  that." 

"  Well,  come  and  see  me  anyhow. 
Where's  that  fan,  Parker?  Here,  Guy, 
is  a  rose  for  you.  Good-bye." 

For  a  moment  I  held  her  hand.  She 
smiled,  then  darted  away.  There  was  a 
power  in  her  eyes  then  which  her  girlish 
glance  had  not. 


She  was   out   when    I   called.       For 


90         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

once  a  sensible  impulse  seized  me  and  I 
went  back  to  Paris.  Yes,  for  ten  days 
I  threw  my  soul  into  my  work  and  tried 
to  forget  a  face  with  its  chaplet  of  glint 
ing  curls.  The  result  was  a  successful 
picture,  but  for  ten  days  I  was  miserable. 

I  remember  the  blue-grey  eyes  of 
Jeanne,  my  model,  gazing  at  me  as  I 
worked.  When  she  posed  for  me  before 
I  was  loquacious  and  she  wondered  at 
my  silence. 

"  You  must  be  in  love,"  she  said  with 
candid  directness. 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  say  so  little." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"  When  a  man  is  partially  in  love  he 
talks  all  the  time,  when  he  is  completely 
in  love  he  does  n't  talk  at  all.  Silence 
like  yours  is  serious." 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal 
about  love." 

"  Ah,  that  is  something  one  learns 
without  going  to  school." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         9 1 

"  But  not  without  a  teacher." 

"No." 

"  Tell  me  about  yours. 

"I  have  had  several,  one  for  each 
grade." 

"The  first.  That  is  always  the  most 
interesting." 

She  puckered  her  little  mouth  into  an 
expression  of  disgust.  "  The  first  was  a 
peasant." 

"But  you  loved  him?" 

"I  suppose  I  thought  so  then;  but  he 
was  poor  and  I  had  no  dot." 

"  So  the  engagement  was  broken." 

"  Not  exactly.  You  see  I  had  an 
aunt  in  Paris  who  was  a  dressmaker. 
I  came  here  to  Work  for  her,  and 
earn  a  dot.  That  was  three  years 
ago,  but  sewing  is  very  tiresome. 
I  only  stayed  with  her  three  months." 

"And  your  fiance*?" 

"  He  was  a  very  stupid  fellow.  P«c  • 
haps  he  is  waiting  for  me  still." 


92         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"  Why  do  n't  you  go  back  and  marry 
him?" 

"  Marry  a  peasant !     Never." 

"  Think  of  the  poor  fellow  waiting 
for  you  all  these  years.  You  ought  to 
love  him." 

"  Love  a  peasant.  Ugh  !  I  could 
not." 

"But  you  will  grow  old.  There  will 
be  an  end  to  your  beauty." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Why 
talk  of  the  end?  Besides  there  is  al 
ways  the  Seine." 

To  me  Jeanne's  philosophy  was  com 
fortless.  My  love  was  too  thoroughly 
hopeful  to  find  consolation  in  turbid 
waters.  My  work,  Paris,  my  friends, 
became  positively  obnoxious.  I  could 
endure  my  surroundings  no  longer.  So 
I  jumbled  my  clothes  into  a  bag,  locked 
my  studio  door  and  started  for  London. 


My  love  was  in  the  yearning  period, 


TWO   WOMEN   AND   A    FOOL.         93 

which  precedes  despondency  or  satiety. 
It  quivered  through  my  veins.  Help 
lessly  I  was  borne  on  the  crest  of  a  tidal 
wave  of  passion. 

Dorothy,  you  are  right  in  doubting. 
What  has  my  heart  to  give  you  but  ster 
ility?  Moira's  glance  shrivelled  the 
fine  spiritual  bloom.  Lioba  merely 
profaned  the  outer  shell;  she  left  the 
sanctuary  untouched.  My  love  for 
Moira  has  been  more  masculine  than 
spiritual,  but  can  I  say  it  leaves  my  soul 
untainted? 

But  I  did  not  stop  to  ask  that  ques 
tion  then.  Moira's  cold  glance  when 
we  met ;  the  unconcerned  pressure  of 
her  hand ;  her  unfeeling  laughter,  all 
lashed  me  tormentingly.  She  used  my 
love  as  a  diversion.  Occasionally  she 
threw  a  sop  to  my  famishing  soul,  and 
when  I  lapped  her  hand  in  gratitude 
bestowed  a  cuff  for  my  impertinence. 
But  I  went  on  gorging  her  with  love, 
until  of  necessity  she  became  indisposed 


94         TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

from  over  feeding,  and  all  the  while  I 
starved. 


How  long  was  it  ?  Six  months,  not 
more,  in  which  I  languished  before 
growing  wise.  It  seemed  an  age. 

"  Bah!"  said  d'Argenteuil.  "A  woman 
is  won  by  indifference  and  lost  by  in 
dulgence.  Take  my  advice,  pack  up 
and  go  to  Paris,  stay  three  months, 
and  if  you  love  her  still,  come  back  to 
London.  Then  try  inconstancy  and 
insolence,  and  she  '11  be  yours  in  a 
week." 

For  a  wonder  I  took  his  advice,  but 
much  to  his  surprise  I  stayed  the  three 
months — and  came  back. 

His  little  eyes  dilated  somewhat  on 
seeing  me.  He  twirled  his  mustache 
thoughtfully  a  moment.  "  There  are 
but  two  classes  of  people,"  he  said,  in 
his  Gallic  idiom.  "Ceux  gut  sont  betes  et 
ceux  qui  font  des  betises.  My  dear  fellow 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         95 

you  are  incomprehensible.  You  belong 
to  both." 

"Yes,  I  am  stupid  enough  to  love 
her  still." 

"A  lover  is  often  an  imbecile,  but 
always  a  fool.  It  is  evident  that  you 
need  a  keeper.  Take  supper  with  me 
to-night.  Vance,  I  have  n't  seen  her 
for  three  weeks,  she  will  be  there.  Per 
haps  she  can  hypnotise  you.  Who 
knows?" 

Of  course  Moira  was  there.  I  might 
have  seen  through  d'Argenteuil's  little 
pleasantry,  but  perhaps  he  was  right.  I 
was  decidedly  fatuous  in  those  days.  I 
had,  however,  firmly  resolved  to  adopt 
new  tactics.  Servility  was  a  failure,  I 
would  try  domineering. 

Moira  lolled  in  one  of  d'Argenteuil's 
big  easy  chairs  as  I  entered.  She  was 
looking  over  some  photographs.  D'Ar- 
genteuil,  siempre  galante,  was  turning 
an  extravagant  compliment  for  the 
edification  of  big,  buxom  Lilian  Vance, 


96        TWO   WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

who,  laced  several  degrees  beyond 
the  comfortable  breathing  point,  was 
standing  near  the  window  gasping  for 
air. 

As  I  spoke  to  my  host  Moira  glanced 
up  languidly. 

"Hallo,  Guy!     Back  again." 

"Yes,"  I  muttered  without  turning 
my  head.  Moira  said  nothing,  but  I  felt 
she  was  looking  at  me.  After  a  word  or 
two  with  Vance  I  wandered  about  the 
room,  pretending  to  examine  d'Argen- 
teuil's  collection  of  curios  and  bibelots. 
Moira  continued  to  glance  at  the  pho 
tographs.  I  came  nearer  to  her  and 
began  to  hum  a  tune. 

"Guy,"  she  said  finally,  "I  hope  you 
are  amused." 

"  Tremendously." 

"I  'm  very  glad." 

"Why?" 

"Amateur  theatricals  are  extremely 
distressing  to  the  spectators,  but  if  the 
performers  are  amused  I  suppose  one 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         97 

must  occasionally  be  charitable  and 
endure  them." 

"I  don't  understand  the  inference." 

"Why,  Guy,  your  acting  is  positively 
absurd.  You  are  over- doing  the  part 
and  your  stage  business  is  simply  ridic 
ulous." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  an  aspir 
ant  for  histrionic  honors." 

"  Oh,  but  you  are,  Guy.  As  a  profes 
sional  you  may  pardon  me  if  I  give  you 
a  few  hints." 

"  I  should  be  delighted,"  I  said, 
with  a  vain  attempt  at  a  sarcastic  tone. 
"One  usually  pays  dearly  for  the  advice 
of  such  talent  as  yours." 

"Sit  down,  Guy,  and  I  will  point  out 
your  mistakes." 

I  took  a  chair  and  drew  it  near 
hers. 

"You  have  a  new  role,"  she  said, 
"Sarcastic  indifference.  It  is  better 
chosen  than  the  mawkish  sentimentality 
you  tried  on  me  before  you  went  to 

7 


98        TWO    WOMEN   AND    A    FOOL. 

Paris,  but  your  conception  of  the  part 
is  bad." 

"You  presume  a  great  deal." 

"  I  have  a  pair  of  eyes  and  a  little 
acumen,  Guy.  Now  how  much  better 
it  would  have  been  for  you  to  have 
entered  the  room  with  just  a  bit  of 
swagger,  greet  me  rather  cordially,  turn 
a  pretty  but  meaningless  compliment, 
chaff  me  some;  perhaps,  say  I  was  look 
ing  uncommonly  well,  find  fault  with 
my  gown,  and  then  pass  on  to  Vance  in 
the  same  careless  way.  That  would 
have  puzzled  me.  I  would  have  thought 
you  clever,  and  of  course  I  should  have 
liked  you.  But  what  do  you  do  ? 
Treat  me  with  studied  contempt;  avoid 
me  as  a  plague  ;  stare  at  the  pictures  ; 
glower  when  I  look  at  you,  and  make 
an  ass  of  yourself  generally." 

"  When  the  Lord  supplied  you  with 
gifts,  Moira,  he  was  prodigal  with  per 
spicuity,  but  miserly  with  manners." 

"  That's  rather  smart,  Guy,  even  if  it 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.         99 

is  rude  ;  why  do  n't  you  say  things  like 
that  oftener  ?  " 

"  I  do  when  it 's  worth  while.'v 

"  Then  you  'd  better  make  it  worth 
while.  There  are  but  two  things  women 
care  to  hear." 

"What  are  they  ?" 

"If  a  woman  knows  she  is  plain,  she 
likes  to  be  told  she  is  beautiful,  and  if 
she  knows  she  is  good  looking  she 
likes  to  be  told  she's  clever.  The  mis 
take  men  make  is  in  always  compliment 
ing  pretty  women  on  their  looks  and 
plain  ones  on  their  intellects." 

"  Will  you  take  Miss  Marston  in  to 
supper,  Guy  ?  "  said  d'Argenteuil  at  my 
elbow. 

"  Moira,"  I  said,  as  we  walked  away, 
"A  face  such  as  yours  is  like  the 
beautiful  binding  of  a  choice  book ; 
it  merely  attracts  one  to  the  clever 
ness  within," 

"  Guy,  you  are  improving ;  but  let 
me  ask  you  how  many  people  admire 


100       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

the  binding  and  let  the  leaves  remain 
uncut  ?  " 

"  Such  Philistines  are  incapable  of 
appreciating  the  rare  treasures  of  your 
heart  ;  that  privilege  should  belong 
to  a  true  lover  of  the  beautiful,  such 
as  I." 

"  Guy  you  are  positively  fascinating." 

Yes,  a  bold,  vigorous  spirit  came  over 
me  suddenly.  Trenchant  words  flew 
from  my  lips  unprompted.  What  pleas 
ure  is  there  like  the  conscious  power  of 
heart  over  heart  ?  A  man's  love  may 
beseech  with  cringing,  famished  gaze, 
but  even  in  a  wretched  heart  like  that  a 
rebellious  spirit  may  be  surging.  Fi 
nally  it  breaks  forth,  and  the  starveling 
becomes  a  robust  man  conscious  of  his 
power.  Then  for  a  brief  hour  he  tastes 
the  sweets  of  mastery. 

But  if  the  mutinous  slave  have  a 
Moira  for  his  mistress  a  subtlety  far 
stronger  than  his  own  rude  vigor  will 
trap  him  back  to  servitude  again. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        10 1 

Let  me  enjoy  the  memory  of  that 
hour  of  liberty. 

I  felt  the  wine  tingle  through  me. 
Its  sparkle  inspired  my  skillful  onset, 
yet  I  retained  the  mastery  of  myself. 
As  I  leaned  towards  Moira  her  eyes 
glistened  provokingly  in  the  mellow 
candle-light ;  then  they  softened  and 
met  my  glance  tenderly.  For  a 
moment  she  was  sympathetic  and 
womanly,  then  the  impulsive  smile 
came  back  to  vex  me,  and  her  tantaliz 
ing  laughter  filled  the  room. 

"Moira,"  I  said,  "if  you  were  not  a 
paradox  you  might  be  a  paragon." 

"How  so?" 

"You  have  every  element  of  a  per 
fect  woman  except  a  heart." 

"  Guy,  you  malign  me.  I  have  an 
organ  of  that  description,  I  really 
have,  I  assure  you,  but  it  is  n't  transpar 
ent." 

"  Is  it  anything  more  than  a  pump 
for  your  arteries?" 


102       TWO    WOMEN    AND   A    FOOL. 

"Wrong  again,  Guy;  it  is  a  furnace 
of  molten  love." 

"Then  it  must  be  surrounded  like 
most  furnaces  by  a  huge  brick  wall.  I 
suppose  the  most  I  can  expect  is  to  be 
allowed  to  warm  my  hands  against  the 
glowing  outer  surface." 

"But  somewhere  there  is  a  little  door, 
Guy,  through  which  the  inner  fires 
must  be  fed.  Why  have  you  never 
found  it?" 

"  Because  the  route  lies  through  a 
labyrinth.  Each  time  I  try  to  reach  it, 
I  come  against  some  obstruction.  I 
have  about  made  up  my  mind  that  it  is 
like  the  maze  at  Hampton  Court ;  there 
is  nothing  at  the  centre  but  an  empty 
cell." 

She  looked  into  my  eyes.  "  Guy, 
you  are  just  a  little  nearer  to-night 
than  you  have  ever  been." 

"  Then  is  it  worth  my  while  to  try 
just  a  little  harder  and  see  if  I  can  solve 
the  mystery?" 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"That  is  for  you  to  decide." 

"And  the  route?" 

"That  is  for  you  to  discover." 

"  It  must  lie  through  your  lips;  your 
eyes  are  altogether  too  mysterious." 

"  If  you  go  on  like  that,  I  may  love 
you  just  a  trifle." 

"Truthful  for  once,  Moira;  nothing 
could  be  more  trifling  than  your  love." 

"That  is  insolent." 

"  No,  it  is  merely  inauspicious." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  the  moment  to  call  a  wom 
an's  love  a  trifle  is  when  you  possess  it." 

"  Then  you  would  better  call  mine  a 
stern  reality." 

"  A  reality  perhaps,  but  more  inscru 
table  than  stern.  Indeed,  I  am  not 
quite  sure  if  he  who  reaches  your  heart 
will  find  a  pageant  or  a  paradise." 

"  That  will  do,  Guy.  I  am  going  to 
talk  to  d'Argenteuil." 

She  turned  her  back  with  a  petulant 
toss  of  the  head.  I  laughed. 


104       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

I  felt  the  exultation  of  a  pirate  who 
has  thrown  off  all  allegiance  to  civiliza 
tion  and  hoisted  the  black  flag.  I  was 
my  own  master,  free  to  conquer  and 
destroy.  Alas;  I  sailed  in  a  frail  ship, 
vulnerable  to  the  first  shotted  broad 
side  from  Moira's  eyes.  My  demon 
stration  surprised  her,  undoubtedly,  but 
thinking  a  show  of  force  sufficient 
she  amused  herself  by  firing  a  few 
blank  shots  across  my  bows. 

As  I  did  not  surrender,  she  resolved 
to  clear  for  action. 

Her  eyes  sparkled.  She  smiled,  but 
always  at  d'Argenteuil. 

I  endeavored  to  retaliate  by  talking 
to  Vance.  Somehow  the  other  conver 
sation  was  all  I  heard. 

Occasionally  one  meets  a  woman  like 
Vance,  who  is  aggressively  vulgar.  She 
wears  gowns  so  tight  that  they  crackle 
when  she  moves,  and  each  time  one 
sees  her  she  exhales  some  new  scent  a 
trifle  more  nauseating  than  the  last. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       10$ 

She  invariably  talks  shop.  There  is 
some  reference  to  the  "profession"  in 
every  sentence  she  speaks,  and  when 
she  has  gulped  a  glass  or  two  of  cham 
pagne,  her  rasping  laughter  rumbles 
through  the  room  continuously.  Yet 
she  has  had  admirers,  and  diamonds 
galore.  I  have  never  understood  how 
men  accustomed  to  the  society  of  well- 
bred  women  become  fascinated  by  vul 
gar  creatures  who  have  no  charm  more 
apparent  than  a  repletion  of  feminine 
plumpness. 

When  Moira  leaves  the  theatre  she 
leaves  the  stage  behind.  She  has  the 
manners  if  not  the  morals  of  a  gentle 
woman,  and  therein  lies  her  danger. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  ab 
sorbed  me. 

Finally,  exasperated  by  my  abstrac 
tion,  Vance  hit  my  knuckles  with  her  fan. 

"Wake  up,  you  silly,"  she  said. 

Moira  saw  the  action  and  smiled. 
D'Argenteuil  laughed  outright. 


106       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"  I  was  n't  asleep,  I  was  only  medita 
ting  on  morals." 

"  La,  la,  what  stupidity,"  said  d'Ar- 
genteuil. 

"  Yet  moral  laws  do  exist." 

"Yes,"  he  replied;  "they  exist  like 
ze  egg  shells  only  to  be  broken." 

"  And  when  they  are  broken  decay 
ensues." 

"  A  pleasant  topic  for  a  supper  table," 
interrupted  Moira. 

"  I  call  morals  bad  form,"  said 
Vance. 

"  That  ez  because  you  are  a  bad  case, 
ez  it  not  so?"  laughed  d'Argenteuil. 

"  How  insulting  !  " 

"  My  dear,  the  insinuation  is  flatter 
ing,"  said  Moira.  "  Bad  people  are 
dangerous." 

"Well,  d'Argenteuil  should  be  a 
judge,"  I  suggested;  "he  has  known 
enough  of  them." 

"  That  ez  true.  I  have  never  known 
any  other  kind." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        107 

"  An  implied  insult  to  me,"  ex 
claimed  Moira. 

"  I  thought  you  considered  it  a  com 
pliment,  my  dear,"  said  Vance. 

"  It  depends  entirely  upon  the  recipi 
ent.  One  should  be  complimented  for 
one's  chief  charm,  not  one's  chief  de 
fect." 

Vance  pondered  a  moment,  but  failed 
quite  to  see  what  Moira  intended. 

"  My  neighbor  considers  morals  bad 
form ;  what  do  you  think  of  them, 
Moira?"  I  asked. 

"  I  fear  I  have  but  one  rule  in  my 
moral  code,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  not 
golden." 

"And  that  is?" 

"Do  unto  others  as  they  do  unto  you." 

"  If  you  obey  that  law  you  will  love 
me." 

"Ah,  but  according  to  d'Argenteuil, 
moral  laws  are  made  to  be  broken." 

"  So  they  resemble  hearts?" 

"  Yes,   because   like   hearts   they  are 


108       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

merely  impositions.  To  believe  in  eith 
er  is  to  become  supremely  wretched." 

"Then  you  do  n't  believe  in  love?" 

"Only  with  certain  limitations." 

"  Explain,  pray." 

"  Love  should  be  a  dissipation,  not  a 
diet." 

"  It  depends  upon  one's  constitution. 
To  me  love  is  a  distemper,  contracted 
by  contact  with  a  pair  of  eyes." 

"  Then  it  is  a  pity  you  were  not  born 
blind." 

"  I  am  blind  to  every  one  but  you, 
Moira." 

"  I  am  tremendously  sorry ;  can't  I 
lend  you  my  dog  and  string  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  case  of  love  you,  love  your 
dog?" 

"  No,  but  Totsy  has  been  with  her 
mistress  so  long  that  she  would  proba 
bly  know  how  to  lead  you  into  some 
new  folly  within  the  week." 

"  You  do  not  paint  yourself  in  excul 
patory  colors." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        109 

"  No,  I  am  not  hypocritical.  That  is 
one  advantage  we  Bohemians  have  over 
patrician  women.  We  are  supposed  to 
be  bad,  and  we  are  seldom  disobliging; 
they  are  expected  to  be  good  and  they 
are  always  disappointing." 

"  Then  fidelity  finds  no  place  in  your 
code  of  love." 

She  laughed.  "  Guy,  a  woman's  love 
is  like  her  bonnet ;  it  changes  with  the 
season.  The  one  is  selected  to  suit  her 
mood,  the  other  to  match  her  complex 
ion.  Extravagant  women  like  me  keep 
a  supply  of  both  always  on  hand,  lest 
sameness  become  wearisome." 

"  Then  let  me  be  the  old  rainy  day 
bonnet,  which  is  always  thrown  about, 
but  never  thrown  away." 

Her  eyes  grew  serious.  "I  think  too 
much  of  you  for  that,  but  not  enough 
to  have  you  with  me  always.  You  knew 
me  before  my  career  began,  and  I  am 
sure  you  think  of  me  as  I  was  then. 
You  do  n't  know  all  the  steps  by  which 


110       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

I  have  risen.  Throw  me  out  of  your 
heart  and  trample  on  me.  Do,  that 's  a 
good  boy,  Guy." 

She  turned  and  spoke  to  d'Argenteuil. 

I  played  with  the  stem  of  my  glass. 

"  Wake  up,  Guy,"  said  d'Argenteuil, 
finally.  "  La  Belle  Marston,  she  make 
you  serious.  Believe  not  in  her.  Ze 
women  are  like  ze  anarchists,  always 
plotting  against  man." 

"Alas!"  I  exclaimed.  "What  terri 
ble  exterminatives  they  carry  hidden  in 
their  eyes." 

"Guy,  you  are  despondent,"  he  said, 
"Be  joyful,  be  gay.  Come,  ve  will 
amuse  you,  make  you  merry.  Ve  will 
sing.  Vance,  she  will  dance  for  you  her 
new  dance,  de  papillon.  Ez  it  not  so, 
Vance  ?  No,  not  if  I  touch  the  piano 
myself  ?  Ah,  I  thought  so,  come  every 
body  to  ze  salon,  ve  will  all  dance." 


I  suppose    that  to  every   lover  of  a 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        Ill 

woman  such  as  Moira  an  hour  must 
come  when  the  image  of  purity  which 
the  heart  has  treasured  as  a  symbol  of 
ideal  womanhood  is  overturned,  and  an 
enticing  idol  of  flesh  and  blood  is 
raised  in  its  place.  Then  the  soul  be 
comes  stupefied  by  the  mental  debauches 
into  which  one  plunges,  and  through 
excessive  zeal  for  the  new  goddess,  the 
worship  becomes  a  sort  of  moral  fetich- 
ism. 

That  night  as  I  drove  home  with 
Moira  from  d'Argenteuil's  my  heart 
was  racked  by  the  tormenting  rites  of 
adoration. 

A  drizzling  rain  beat  against  the  win 
dows  of  the  cab  ;  the  hoofs  fell  monoto 
nously  on  the  pavement ;  swiftly  through 
narrow,  tortuous  streets  the  hansom 
rolled,  and  eagerly  I  watched  for  the 
momentary  gleam  in  Moira's  eyes  of 
each  passing  street  lamp.  Countless 
love  phrases  rose  to  my  lips,  yet  each 
seemed  inadequate.  Now  that  we  were 


I  1 2       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

alone  the  very  excess  of  my  infatuation 
made  me  speechless. 

A  lover  is  often  a  dumb  drudge,  but 
a  flirt  is  always  garrulous  and  plausible. 
Did  women  remember  this  the  ravages 
of  deceivers  might  be  curtailed. 

But  there  will  always  be  a  horde  of 
love-fanatics  of  both  sexes,  anxious  to 
become  martyrs  to  their  own  credulity. 

I  am  one  of  them. 

And  Moira  glories  in  the  role  of  Tor- 
quemada. 

"  Guy,"  she  said,  as  we  entered  her 
cosy  little  drawing-room,  "  You  ought 
to  be  a  footman,  you  attend  to  one's 
wants  so  delightfully,  and  never  speak 
except  when  spoken  to.  Do  you  know 
you  were  absolutely  silent  all  the  way 
from  Half  Moon  street." 

"  I  was  afraid  to  speak." 

Her  eyes  grew  thoughtful.  I  removed 
her  long  fleecy  wrap  and  placed  it  over 
a  chair.  She  sank  into  the  corner  of  a 
low  divan  and  threw  her  head  back 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        113 

against  the  cushions.  The  rays  of  a 
lamp,  mellowed  by  a  crimson  shade,  fell 
on  her  face,  and,  beyond,  a  tall  palm 
loomed  through  the  gloom.  She  fing 
ered  the  tassel  of  a  cushion  and  smiled. 

"Guy,  you  are  nothing  but  a  big  over 
grown  boy,"  she  said;  "but  I  like  you." 

"You  think  of  me  as  you  knew  me 
before." 

"  I  think  of  you  as  you  are,  a  silly  boy, 
half  in  love." 

"  Rather  a  man  completely,  wholly, 
entirely  in  love." 

"  Come  here,  Guy,"  she  said  impetu 
ously. 

Approaching  her  I  leaned  upon  the 
tall  back  of  the  divan  and  looked  down 
into  her  face.  Suddenly  she  threw  her 
arms  about  my  neck  and  kissed  me. 
Then  she  laughed. 

"  I  love  you  to-night,  Guy." 

"  I  love  you  always." 

"My  love  is  merely  a  whim  to-night; 
to-morrow  a  regret,  perhaps." 


114       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Her  eyes  burnt  through  me.  Her 
kiss  was  no  longer  the  fluttering  kiss  of 
a  timid  girl,  but  in  the  pressure  of  her 
lips  I  felt  the  impulsive  love  of  a 
woman.  For  a  moment  the  suddenness 
with  which  that  love  was  given  startled 
me,  then  it  seemed  as  though  our  souls 
were  stripped  bare  and  we  stood  there 
reckless,  each  knowing  the  secret  of  the 
other's  naked  heart. 

And  so  I  was  borne  down  into  the 
furious  eddies.  The  pure  image,  if  ever 
my  love  for  Moira  was  pure,  was  shat 
tered,  and  my  life  became  a  feverish 
clutch  after  the  varied  sensations  of  a 
capricious  woman's  moods. 


I  wish  I  had  faith  in  something.  I 
suppose  that  is  cynical.  Sometimes  I 
wonder  whether  a  cynic's  scoffs  are  ever 
sincere.  Whenever  I  scout  at  faith  or 
morality  my  sneers  are  but  the  reverber 
ations  of  my  own  follies.  My  derision 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        I  1 5 

of  the  faith  of  others  is  like  the  barking 
of  a  dog  at  night.  The  sound  of  my 
voice  gives  me  courage. 

Someone  has  said,  I  think  it  is  the 
younger  Dumas,  that  "man's  hope  of 
an  immortal  life  comes  from  his  despair 
at  finding  this  life  mortal."  Oh,  the 
despair  I  have  felt  while  groping 
through  the  darkness  of  agnosticism. 

I  struck  out  boldly  enough  to  swim 
with  the  current  of  enlightenment. 
Swiftly,  surely,  I  was  borne  onward. 
One  by  one  the  parental  tenets  were 
left  behind,  but  now  that  I  am  weary,  I 
ask  myself  the  question  —  towards  what 
shore  flows  this  stream  of  reason?  I 
feel  too  weak  to  turn  back  and  stem  the 
tide ;  but  is  the  light  which  has  guided 
me  the  truth  or  only  its  parhelion? 

When  d'Argenteuil  scoffs,  I  invari 
ably  shudder.  Is  it  merely  the  reflex 
action  of  my  childhood's  credulity,  or 
is  it  the  quivering  of  a  conscience? 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  suppose  I  am  no 


Il6       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

better  than  d'Argenteuil,  and  yet  I  have 
pitied  him  at  times. 

Perhaps  that  pity  was  anguish. 

Or  conceit. 

There  is  nothing  like  a  proper  con 
ception  of  one's  own  character,  so  I 
will  open  another  bottle  of  soda,  and 
drink  to  what  I  suppose  I  am  —  that 
worthless,  flippant,  counterfeit,  a  modern 
young  man. 

In  the  privacy  of  these  four  walls  I 
can  safely  take  off  the  disguise  with 
which  my  pretensions  have  clothed  me, 
but  heaven  grant  that  no  one  else  shall 
see  the  lean,  miserable  sham  which 
shivers  before  my  heart's  eye. 

No,  I  shan't  think  over  those  two 
years  in  London. 

If  Moira's  love  had  ever  been  wholly 
and  completely  mine  I  might  have  been 
happy. 

I  was  never  more  than  a  caprice. 

Oh,  the  fatal  error  of  letting  a  woman 
supersede  my  art. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        I  I  / 

London  life !  what  did  it  mean  to 
me  ? 

I  made  many  acquaintances  and  few 
pictures,  and  yet  I  had  what  the  world 
calls  success.  I  was  in  evidence.  And 
why?  Because  I  painted  the  countess 
of  Kildale,  and  the  duchess  of  West- 
hampton  took  me  up.  Then  my  affair 
with  Moira  became  known,  and  in  con 
sequence  the  women  flocked  to  my 
studio.  They  could  not  meet  Moira, 
oh,  dear,  no ;  she  was  an  actress  ;  but  I 
became  in  their  eyes  that  most  fascinat 
ing  of  objects,  a  dangerous  man. 

I  value  some  people,  I  tolerate  others, 
but  I  despise  the  canting  society 
women  who  gather  up  their  skirts  in 
the  presence  of  a  Moira,  and  deceive 
their  husbands  with  a  dexterity  only 
equalled  by  the  readiness  with  which 
they  hoodwink  their  lovers. 

But  I  was  in  love  with  Moira,  so  per 
haps  I  have  a  fellow-feeling  for  those 
husbands.  At  any  rate  I  shall  not 


Il8       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

brood  over  the  hypocrisy  of  society.  If 
I  did  I  should  end  by  waving  a  red 
flag  in  Trafalgar  Square. 

After  all  there  is  goodness  in  the 
world,  but  its  neck  is  seldom  exposed, 
and  it  owns  few  diamonds. 


Curious,  how  suddenly  a  decision 
which  may  affect  one's  whole  life  is 
sometimes  reached. 

I  remember  the  day  as  though  it 
were  yesterday.  But  it  was  only  six 
months  ago. 

A  sickly  fire  sputtered  in  my  grate ; 
occasionally  it  crackled,  and  then  a 
wind-blast  hurled  a  little  cloud  of  smoke 
into  the  room,  flecking  the  hearth  with 
soot.  The  air  was  grey  with  a  chilling 
fog  which  had  penetrated  through 
crack  and  crevice,  and  hung  in  wreathy 
clouds  about  the  studio.  From  the  sky 
light  a  leaden  light  fell  gloomily  upon 
a  half  finished  portrait.  With  a  palette 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        119 

on  my  hand  I  stood  shivering  before 
my  easel  trying  to  undo  some  academ 
ical  touches  too  readily  copied  from  my 
model. 

What  could  one  paint  in  such  an 
atmosphere ! 

Disgusted,  I  put  the  palette  down, 
and  plunging  my  hands  in  my  pockets, 
paced  the  room  thoughtfully. 

My  London  studio  was  always  my 
pride,  but  that  morning  it  was  loath 
some. 

The  art  objects,  once  so  carefully 
chosen,  looked  ill  assorted.  My  Flor 
entine  marriage  coffer  seemed  but  a 
tawdry  chest  of  painted  wood;  the 
Flemish  cabinet  too  ungainly  for  the 
room.  I  wondered  how  I  ever  chose 
the  hangings;  nothing  blended  with 
them;  but  the  day  before  I  had  spoken 
of  them  with  pride  to  Lady  Lester. 

I  paused  before  a  tulip  wood  secre 
taire  with  Sevres  plaques  and  Ormolu 
mountings.  It  was  a  gem,  but  it  al- 


I2O       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

ways  seemed  out  of  place  amid  the  more 
sombre  furniture  of  the  studio.  That 
morning  it  positively  annoyed  me,  and 
I  wished  I  had  some  other  place  to 
put  it. 

On  the  ledge  of  this  desk  were  a  few 
silver  trinkets  and  a  couple  of  minia 
tures.  Prompted  rather  by  nervousness 
than  interest  I  examined  the  latter. 

I  once  bought  them  at  a  sale  at 
Christies,  and  they  were  labeled  thus  in 
the  catalogue: 

"1078,  a  lady  in  pink  and  blue  robes, 
temp.  Queene  Anne,  oval,  enamel, 
Webb." 

"  1079,  a  gentleman  in  blue  coat, 
Temp.  Queene  Anne,  oval,  enamel, 
The  same." 

Perhaps  this  gentleman  in  a  blue  coat 
was  my  ancestor,  I  thought.  As  well 
he  as  any.  I  was  once  curious  enough 
about  my  family  to  look  up  the  Whar- 
tons  in  a  colonial  genealogy,  and  I 
found  two  from  either  of  whom  I  might 


TWO    WOMEN   AND    A    FOOL.       121 

be  descended.  The  one  was  a  courtier, 
in  Queen  Anne's  time  ruined  at  play, 
and  the  other  was  deported  for  sheep 
stealing.  But  what  should  ancestry 
matter  to  an  American  ?  Family  is  the 
apology  of  mediocrity.  The  pride  of  a 
genius  should  be  himself,  and  when  one 
is  not  a  genius  humility  is  the  more  be 
coming  pose.  Unless  perchance  one 
forms  part  of  that  fortunate  generation 
which  in  America  stands  between  shirt 
sleeves  and  shirt  sleeves.  Then  one 
may  swell  one's  chest  complacently  and 
be  laughed  at  by  sensible  people  for  the 
absurdity  of  one's  pretensions. 

I  fear  it  is  only  in  my  closet  that  I 
talk  like  that,  but  of  course  I  am  not  a 
genius,  therefore  I  must  pose  for  some 
thing  in  order  to  impose  on  somebody. 
The  grandeur  of  most  of  us  lies  in  our 
pretensions;  without  them  we  should  be 
drummed  out  of  the  social  camp. 

But  that  morning  I  wondered  if  Mr. 
1079  ever  tried  to  squeeze  consolation 


122       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

from  witless  cynicism  because  he  was  in 
love  with  Miss  1078  and  knew  he  was 
but  a  gewgaw  with  which  she  played 
when  the  spirit  moved  her. 

And  did  my  fair  lady  in  pink  and 
blue  robes  coquette  with  a  dozen  men 
at  once,  and  when  angry  words  rose  to 
the  lips  of  suffering  Mr.  1079  did  she 
stifle  them  with  a  glance  from  those 
lustrous  eyes,  and  in  her  heart  mock  his 
gullibility? 

I  presume  so,  for  she  looked  capable 
of  it. 

They  both  ate  and  drank  and  loved 
and  died.  Was  life  to  them  a  sapless 
jumble  of  frivolities  and  sick  headaches, 
or  did  they  find  it  worth  the  living  ? 

Perhaps  they  do  n't  know ;  perhaps 
they  are  sleeping,  and  will  sleep  on 
through  all  eternity. 

Perhaps. 

Emile  Wister  once  painted  Moira's 
miniature  and  mine.  A  century  hence 
we  may  be  sold  as  a  lady  in  green  and 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        123 

a  gentleman  in  a  black  coat ;  temp. 
Victoria. 

And  what  will  it  matter? 

"Well,  my  dear  friends,"  I  said,  as  I 
replaced  the  miniatures  on  the  shelf, 
"you  cost  me  £$,  los.  and  the  only 
pleasure  you  have  afforded  me  is  a  few- 
moments  senseless  reflection. 

"  But  you  did  not  help  me  to  forget 
last  night,"  I  continued,  abstractedly.  I 
might  have  expected  it,  I  suppose,  but 
since  our  last  quarrel  I  had  actually  be 
gun  to  believe  in  Moira's  sincerity.  She 
was  so  plausible;  and  I  am  so  gullible. 
But  she  could  n't  explain  away  that 
night.  Those  glances  into  the  wings, 
the  taunting  way  she  smiled  as  she  left 
me  standing  on  the  sidewalk  and  drove 
off  to  supper  at  the  Cosmopolitan. 

I  felt  like  a  miserable  whipped  puppy, 
and  that  was  the  way  she  meant  me  to 
feel. 

She  might  have  been  less  scandalous 
about  it,  I  thought — but  Lord  Kildale, 


124       TWO    WOMEN   AND    A    FOOL. 

whose  wife  is  one  of  ray  best  friends. 
It 's  a  confounded  shame. 

Oh  the  ignominy  of  being  thrown  over 
by  a  woman.  There  is  nothing  to  do 
but  swallow  one's  medicine. 

I  wish  I  did  n't  care;  I  do  n't  care;  I 
won't  care. 

"  If  you  were  a  man,  Guy  Wharton," 
I  cried  aloud,  "  you  'd  shake  clear  of 
the  whole  business  and  leave  London. 
There  's  nothing  so  pitiful  as  a  discard 
ed  lover.  But  I  won't  give  in.  Kildale 
is  only  a  whim.  I  will  win  her  back. 
Then  be  tortured  again  in  another 
month.  I  might  go  out  to  Chicago  to 
the  Exposition  and  cut  loose  from  her 
altogether.  She  is  bound  to  admire  in 
dependence,  if  she  cares  at  all. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  it,  you  little 
red-haired  hussy  in  pink  and  blue?"  I 
said,  angrily,  as  though  addressing  the 
miniature  of  Miss  1078;  "you  look 
enough  like  Moira  to  be  her  twin  sister 
in  deception.  So  you  laugh  at  me  too. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        125 

do  you?  And  think  I  'm  a  fool.  I 
won't  have  it,  confound  you.  Into  the 
fireplace  you  go,  to  burn  and  sizzle  as 
you  ought  to. 

"  Broken  in  bits  are  you,"  I  cried,  as 
the  miniature  fell  into  the  grate.  "I  'm 
glad  of  it." 

"  Hallo,  Guy  !  " 

I  glanced  up,  startled. 

Moira  was  standing  in  the  door.  Her 
little  figure  was  completely  hidden  by 
the  folds  of  a  huge  rain  coat,  and  she 
wore  a  smart  sailor  hat  tipped  jauntily 
forwards.  The  damp  air  had  brought  a 
glow  to  her  cheeks,  and  her  teeth  glist 
ened  as  she  smiled. 

For  the  moment  I  forgot  my  anger. 

"  What  brought  you  here  !  "  I  ex 
claimed. 

"A  hansom." 

"  Inanity  cannot  masquerade  as  clev 
erness." 

"  I  am  very  amiable,  Guy,  so  I  will 
let  that  pass;  besides  I  am  bored,  and  I 


126       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

could  think  of  nothing  more  exciting 
than  seeing  you,  so  that  is  why  I  am 
here." 

"  Really !  You  might  have  gone  to 
Berkeley  Square,  you  would  have  found 
that  exciting  enough." 

"  Yes,  Guy,  but  you  forget  the  hour. 
Her  ladyship  would  n't  receive  me  so 
early." 

"  No,  nor  at  any  hour,  I  fancy.  That 
pleasure  is  reserved  for  her  husband." 

"  Hush  up,  Guy,"  she  said,  advanc 
ing  into  the  room  and  throwing  aside 
her  raincoat.  "I  don't  like  to  see  you 
make  yourself  ridiculous." 

"  You  seem  very  solicitous  about  my 
conduct ;  were  you  half  as  concerned 
about  your  own — " 

"  I  would  not  visit  Mr.  Wharton  alone 
in  his  studio  and  run  the  risk  of  losing 
my  reputation.  Why  don't  you  have  at 
least  one  comfortable  chair,  Guy  ;  and 
by  the  way  that  Chinese  god,  or  what 
ever  you  call  it,  on  the  mantel  annoys 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        \2f 

me.  He  has  a  very  impudent  expres 
sion,  and  his  costume  is  positively  im 
modest.  I  wish  you  would  remove 
him." 

Walking  to  the  fire  place  I  seized  the 
offending  idol  and  threw  him  into  the 
coal  box  with  an  angry  gesture ;  I 
slammed  the  lid  down  and  glared  at 
Moira. 

"  Thanks  awfully  !  You  're  tremen 
dously  obliging  to-day." 

She  hummed  a  tune  and  beat  time 
with  her  fingers  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"  By  the  way,  Guy,"  she  said  finally, 
"  Kildale  remarked  last  night  that  he 
thought  you  rather  good  looking.  Do 
you  like  compliments?  " 

I  gazed  at  her  wonderingly. 

"  Moira,"  I  said,  "  I  should  honestly 
like  to  know  what  you  think  of  your 
self?  " 

"  Myself,  Guy  !  Me  !  What  I  think?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  to  be  frank,  when  I  think  of 


128       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

the  salary  I  am  drawing,  I  am  just  a 
little  conceited  ;  and  then  you  know  my 
pictures  are  selling  better  than  those  of 
any  woman  in  London.  But  when  I 
think  that  you  admire  me  I  feel  deci< 
dedly  cheap." 

"  Your  value  of  yourself  can  rise,  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"  Really,  Guy,"  she  replied  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  "  I  am  so  glad.  You  have 
been  such  a  bother  to  me  the  past  year 
I  could  n't  tell  you  that  you  bored  me, 
because  I  feared  to  hurt  vour  silly  feel 
ings.  It 's  absurd  to  have  a  conscience, 
isn't  it?" 

As  I  met  her  sneering  glance  the 
cruel  past  came  back,  yet  I  longed  to 
see  love  in  her  eyes  once  more.  Yes, 
in  spite  of  everything. 

"  Guy,  why  do  n't  you  reply  to  my 
question?" 

"What  did  you  ask?" 

"  If  it  is  not  absurd  to  have  a  con 
science?" 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        I2Q 

"Moira,  I  think  a  conscience  is  a  sort 
of  alarm  clock,  to  keep  the  soul  from 
sleeping  too  long.  Some  of  us  grow  so 
accustomed  to  its  sound  that  we  do  not 
heed  it." 

"And  how  fortunate  we  are.  Just 
think  of  the  delightful  dreams  one 
might  lose  if  one  minded  the  humming 
of  such  a  good-for-nothing  pest." 

"  Yes,  if  one  does  n't  awake  suddenly 
some  day,  and  realize  the  precious  op 
portunities  one  has  lost." 

"Oh,  Guy,  your  preaching  is  duller 
than  the  fog  outside,  only  the  fog  is  n't 
dry.  By  the  way,  we  begin  to  rehearse 
the  new  piece  to-morrow." 

"Indeed,"  I  said  vacantly. 

"Well,  you  might  show  a  little  inter 
est." 

"I  was  thinking  about  my  own 
plans." 

"  You  never  plan  anything  but  stupid 
pictures.  Look  at  that  portrait.  If  I 
were  Lady  Lester  I  should  institute  a 
9 


I3O       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

libel  suit.  No  woman  ever  had  such 
hands." 

"  Moira,  what  pleasure  do  you  derive 
from  being  nasty?" 

"  How  peevish,  Guy ;  now,  if  I  were 
not  above  displays  I  might  resent  that." 

"I  wish  you  would.  I  should  like  to 
quarrel.  I  feel  in  the  mood  for  it." 

"  It  's  so  bad  form  to  get  angry." 

"  That 's  the  worst  about  you,  Moira, 
you  won't  even  fight.  You  make  me 
think  I  am  not  worth  quarreling  with, 
and  I  hate  you  for  it." 

"That  evidence  was  unnecessary. 
Other  things  beside  hate  convict  a  man 
of  being  a  fool." 

"Such  as  loving  a  Circe." 

"  For  your  case,  Guy,  I  should  choose 
another  name  for  the  lady;  no  charmer 
could  change  you  into  a  brute,  you  were 
born  one." 

Without  answering  I  gazed  into  the 
the  fire.  I  was  conscious  of  a  vague, 
dull  pain  in  my  heart. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        13! 

"Moira,  my  mind  is  made  up,"  I 
said;  "  I  am  going  to  leave  London." 

"Sea  shore,  Guy?  Now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  you  do  look  pale." 

"  I  'm  going  home." 

"Home!  I  didn't  know  you  had 
one.  I  thought  you  were  a  vagabond 
like  myself." 

"I  am  a  vagabond.  All  my  life  I 
have  tramped  about,  living  on  cast-off 
love,  and  occasionally  stealing  enough 
happiness  to  keep  my  soul  from  starv 
ing.  I  am  going  to  begin  over 
again  in  America.  There  is  a  health 
ier  air  over  there  than  we  breathe  in 
Europe." 

"Guy,  you're  absurd." 

"No,  I  firmly  believe  that  the  most 
humdrum  of  the  middle  class  existences 
is  better  in  the  long  run,  than  this  mad 
struggle  for  excitement,  this  craving  for 
the  unattainable  which  has  become  the 
passion  of  us  moderns.  Life  is  no 
longer  a  duty,  leading  to  salvation,  it  is 


132       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

merely  a  dissipation  preceding  dissolu 
tion." 

"What  did  you  have  for  dinner  last 
night." 

"  I  am  in  earnest,  Moira;  why  can  't 
you  be  serious." 

"When  I  become  serious  it  will  be 
because  I  have  exhausted  pleasure. 
Then  I  shall  be  ready  to  die,  and  I 
hope  the  Lord  will  make  quick  work 
of  me.  If  he  doesn't,  I  shall  help 
him." 

I  gazed  at  her  curiously.  I  won 
dered  whether  her  inconsequence  was 
not  a  disguise  for  a  baffled  heart.  If 
only  she  would  throw  it  aside  and  let 
one  know  the  woman  underneath  the 
sham. 

She  met  my  earnest  glance. 

"  To  make  an  attempt  at  being  seri 
ous,  Guy,"  she  said.  "  I  thoroughly  ap 
prove  your  plan.  Six  months  in  Amer- 
ca  will  cure  you  of  pat/iotism.  I  shall 
be  there  on  my  tour  just  in  time  to  find 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        133 

you  the  most  miserable  of  homesick 
men." 

"No,  Moira,  you  will  find  that  I  have 
discovered  a  new  inspiration." 

"In  another  pair  of  eyes,  I  suppose. 
I  'm  going  now,  good-bye." 

"Do  n't  go,  I  have  such  a  lot  to  say." 

"  Do  n't  say  it,  Guy.  Your  mind  is 
made  up,  you  might  change  it.  What 
a  calamity  that  would  be." 

She  came  towards  me,  and  taking  my 
hand  held  it  a  moment.  "Good-bye, 
Guy.  You  may  kiss  me  if  you  like. 
No,  on  the  cheek,  I  mean.  You  won't? 
Very  well,  then  take  that  instead,"  and 
slapping  my  cheek  with  her  glove  she 
rushed  out  of  the  room. 


I  stood  there,  unable  for  a  moment  to 
realize  my  stupidity.  Disarmed  by  her 
subtility  ;  charmed  by  her  personality,  I 
mildly  repulsed  her  attack  when  I  should 
have  been  the  accessor.  And  so  it  has 


134       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

ever  been.  Adamantine  resolutions  are 
melted  by  her  glance  into  the  flabbiest 
putty.  Oh,  the  fatuity  of  a  fool  in  love! 

Yet,  even  then,  as  I  paced  the  floor, 
muttering  imprecations  against  Moira, 
and  cursing  my  own  weakness,  my  reso 
lution  to  leave  London  became  a  pur 
pose,  and  lest  a  pair  of  eyes  should 
suborn  my  reason,  I  decided  to  see 
Moira  no  more. 

Illusory  decision. 

I  met  her  in  Piccadilly  the  next 
morning. 

Fortunately  d' Argenteuil  was  with  me, 
else  I  might  have  weakened. 

Thinking  to  surprise  her,  he  told  her 
I  had  taken  my  passage. 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  about  it,"  she  said. 
"Poor  fellow,  a  change  will  do  him 
good.  He  looks  awfully  seedy.  He 's 
been  working  so  hard  the  past  two 
months.  Only  one  portrait,  I  know, 
but  then  he  has  put  such  a  lot  of  thought 
into  it." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL         135 

Then  turning  to  me  she  said:  "  Bye, 
bye,  Guy,  shall  I  see  you  again.  Do  n't 
bother  to  call  unless  you  feel  inclined. 
I  'm  dreadfully  busy  rehearsing  the  new 
piece,  and  besides  Kildale  is  teaching 
me  piquet.  I  'm  tremendously  fasci 
nated  with  the  game.  Do  you  play 
piquet,  Guy  ?  You  ought  to  learn." 

Unintentionally  I  met  her  glance. 

"  Write  me  when  you  get  to  New 
York,"  she  added,  as  she  turned  to 
leave.  "  I  should  like  awfully  to  know 
whether  you  were  ill  crossing.  And,  by 
the  way,  if  you  run  across  Dorothy 
Temple,  give  her  my  love.  Poor  dear, 
how  many  sleepless  nights  she  devoted 
to  me.  Tell  her  I  'm  as  circumspect  as 
a  gravestone  now." 

"And  shall  I  add  that  you  are  as  cold 
and  stony  as  one  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  desire  to  admit  your 
own  feebleness." 

Then  she  walked  away  abruptly  and 
was  lost  in  the  fashionable  crowd. 


136       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"  By  the  way,  Guy,"  said  d'Argen- 
teuil,  as  I  gazed  after  her,  "  I  have 
news  for  you,  I  have  been  appointed  on 
the  Exposition  commission — a  surprise, 
Guy,  eh  ! " 

I  was  silent. 

"  Wake  up,  Guy." 

"  Did  you  speak  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Guy,  I  said  you  are 
an  ass." 

"  I  know  it." 

The  most  truthful  admission  I  ever 
made. 

No,  I  am  worse  than  that,  I  am  a 
coward. 


When  I  was  away  from  Moira  I  almost 
forgot  her.  I  must  throw  her  out  of 
my  heart.  I  owe  it  to  myself. 

And  to  Dorothy. 

Yes,  here  I  have  been  dreaming  over 
the  past  and  forgetting  everything  but 
that  provoking  bit  of  vanity — Moira. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL         137 

Am  I  more  ravenous  than  rational. 
Are  lips  that  tempt  and  eyes  that  burn 
more  to  me  than  love  in  its  purest 
sense  ?  It  must  be  so,  else  knowing 
Moira  through  and  through  why  did  I 
surrender  unconditionally  to-night  ? 

Out  of  charity  for  myself  I  will  not 
answer. 

Suppose  I  were  to  tell  Dorothy  the 
truth. 

I  know  what  her  reply  would  be,  she 
would  advise  me  to  marry  Moira. 

Marry  ! 

There  is  humor  in  that  suggestion. 
Moira  herself  once  said  that  marriages 
are  cages  in  which  hearts  snared  by  the 
devil  are  left  to  languish  in  captivity. 

But  the  thought  of  marrying  Moira 
never  entered  my  mind. 

Until  I  met  Dorothy  marriage  seemed 
a  remote  and  respectable  possibility 
to  be  reached  when  my  love  for  Moira 
was  burnt  out.  Some  day  I  would  give 
my  hand  to  an  estimable  young  Miss, 


138       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

who  would  fawn  indulgently  upon  a 
husband  who  had  seen  life.  The  com 
placent  egotism  of  that  thoroughly  mas 
culine  point  of  view  never  occurred  to 
me. 

The  average  man  is  content  to  offer 
in  exchange  for  the  heart  of  a  pure 
woman  a  shapeless  mass,  charred  by  the 
flames  of  unbridled  love,  and  flatter 
himself  that  his  experience  creates  a 
balance  in  his  favor. 

We  men  form  a  moral  mean  between 
the  extremes  of  womanhood. 

But  occasionally  there  must  be  a  man 
who  could  ask  a  Dorothy  Temple  to  be 
his  wife  without  feeling  ashamed  of  his 
own  feebleness. 


After  all  it  was  a  curious  working  of 
chance  which  brought  Dorothy  into  my 
life  again. 

For  two  days  after  my  arrival  I 
breathed  the  nervous  Chicago  air,  then 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        139 

I  became  restless.  My  ears  throbbed 
with  the  ceaseless  hum  of  traffic ;  the 
crowds  in  the  streets  with  their  anxious 
faces  and  twitching  eyes  made  me  im 
patient,  and  I  rushed  forth  in  search  of 
a  studio.  I  wanted  to  work  like  the 
rest,  but  I  wanted  to  be  away  from  the 
droning,  toiling  multitude,  so  I  in 
spected  the  highest  buildings. 

By  accident  I  went  to  the  Masonic 
Temple.  The  rooms  did  not  please 
me  and  hurrying  away  I  took  the 
elevator  at  the  sixteenth  floor.  With 
difficulty  I  squeezed  myself  into  the 
gilded  cage,  then  nauseous  and  dizzy  I 
gripped  my  knuckles  desperately  as  the 
floor  fell  from  under  me  and  I  sank 
into  fathomless  space. 

"  Coin'  down  ! "  shrieked  the  con 
ductor  as  he  stopped  the  car  with  i 
violent  jar  and  threw  back  the  iron 
door. 

I  flattened  myself  against  the  wall, 
and  was  conscious  of  the  rustle  of  a  wo- 


140       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

man's  skirt.  Closing  my  eyes  I  held  my 
breath  as  the  car  shot  downward  again. 

"Chicago  !  "  shouted  the  man. 

Thankful  for  the  breath  of  life  I 
shook  myself  together  and  walked  out 
at  the  ground  floor. 

"You  do  n't  seem  to  like  elevators, 
Mr.  Wharton." 

It  was  a  woman's  voice,  deeper,  more 
modulated  than  those  I  heard  in  the 
streets. 

I  glanced  up  startled.  A  well-dressed 
girl  stood  at  my  elbow.  Those  keen 
dark  eyes,  that  wavy  hair  brushed  care 
lessly  back  from  the  temples  ;  it  was  a 
face  I  could  never  forget. 

"  Dorothy  !  Miss  Temple  !  "  I  ex 
claimed. 

"Yes,  Guy,"  she  laughed.  "Now  beg 
pardon  for  treading  on  my  toes." 

"Don't  hold  me  responsible  for  my 
actions  in  an  elevator.  I  am  an  Euro 
pean  of  eight  years  standing.  But  did 
I  hurt  you?  " 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        14! 

"  No,  but  your  blank  stare  hurt  my 
feelings.  I  must  be  looking  a  thousand 
years  older." 

"  But  my  eyes  were  shut.  I  was 
lost  to  everything  but  sinking  sensa 
tions." 

"  Then  I  forgive  you,"  she  said  ex 
tending  her  hand.  "  I  confess  too  that 
I  am  thankful  for  being  remembered  on 
any  terms,  but  how  do  you  do,  and  why 
are  you  here?  " 

"  I  don't  know;  I  seem  to  have  just 
awakened  from  a  Rip  Van  Winkle 
sleep.  No  one  knows  me  now,  even  the 
dogs  eye  me  suspiciously.  You  don't 
know  how  grateful  I  am  for  being  re 
membered  by  you." 

"  Why  I  saw  your  picture  in  the  paper 
only  this  morning,  and  read  all  about 
your  triumphs  in  art." 

"  And  you  recognized  me  !  Alas,  I 
flattered  myself  that  picture  would  help 
me  keep  my  incognito." 

"If  you  were  not  a  portrait  painter,  I 


142       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

might  pay  you  the  compliment  that 
invites." 

"And  why  does  my  trade  deny  me 
that  pleasure?" 

"  Because  one  whose  profession  is  to 
flatter  with  the  brush  might  doubt  the 
sincerity  of  verbal  compliment." 

"You  evidently  don't  know  us 
artists.  We  thrive  on  flattery  and  lan 
guish  on  truth." 

"  Then  I  fear  that  for  the  moment 
you  must  go  hungry.  I  am  completely 
stopping  this  elevator  door,  and  I  have 
a  hundred  errands  to  do  this  morning. 
But  perhaps  I  might  persuade  you  to 
walk  with  me  as  far  as  my  dentist's 
door.  I  will  promise  to  protect  Rip 
Van  Winkle  from  the  street  urchins." 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  all  about  your 
self." 

"  I  can  do  that  before  we  reach  the 
corner,"  she  laughed. 

As  I  stepped  out  beside  her  I  meas- 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        143 

ured  her  height  against  my  shoulder. 
She  was  taller  than  I  remembered  her — 
and  more  graceful.  I  took  a  second 
glance  at  her  face.  Her  eyes  sparkled 
in  the  sunshine.  They  were  spirited 
and  full  of  light.  I  noticed  a  few 
struggling  curls  of  hair  blown  carelessly 
across  the  temples,  and  the  pale  cheeks 
were  delicately  flushed  with  color.  As 
we  turned  the  lofty  corner  of  the  Ma 
sonic  Temple,  she  bent  forward  to  make 
headway  against  a  sudden  gust  of  wind, 
and  her  superb  figure  was  outlined 
under  the  tense  folds  of  her  dress. 

She  looked  up  suddenly  and  caught 
my  glance. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

"  How  fast  you  walk,"  I  muttered. 
"  Are  you  in  a  frantic  hurry  like  the 
other  Chicagoans?" 

"  Life  here  is  nothing  but  a  scramble, 
you  must  grow  used  to  it." 

"  And  to  these  dirty  streets;  to  those 


144       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

grimy  buildings  which  shut  out  the 
light  of  heaven  with  their  hideous  forms 
—I  can't." 

She  laughed.  "  You  will  grow  to  love 
them  in  a  year.  Every  one  does.  There 
is  an  enthusiasm  about  Chicago  life 
which  is  resistless." 

"  Then  a  painter  must  be  the  excep 
tion  which  proves  the  rule,"  I  said, 
shaking  my  head  doubtfully.  But  she 
was  right,  in  far  less  than  a  year  the 
spirit  of  Chicago  seized  me,  and  though 
alive  to  the  city's  faults,  I  am  as  jealous 
of  its  fame  as  its  most  clamorous  de 
fender. 

We  walked  a  few  steps  in  silence. 

"  The  corner  is  passed,  and  you  have 
told  me  nothing  about  yourself,"  I  said 
finally. 

"Myself,  Guy,"  she  laughed.  "Oh, 
there  is  really  nothing  to  tell.  I  would 
much  rather  hear  about  you." 

"  How  politic !  You  evidently  know 
how  fond  a  man  is  of  talking  about 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        145 

himself.  But  most  women  are  born 
diplomats." 

"  Or  dunces,"  she  interrupted.  "The 
mistake  we  women  make  is  in  flattering 
you  men  too  much,  we  make  you  con 
ceited,  and  a  conceited  man  never 
loves;  he  merely  longs  to  be  appreci 
ated." 

"We  artists  are  conceited,  but  we 
excel  in  loving." 

"Opinion  is  usually  experience.  I 
suppose  yours  is  no  exception  to  the 
rule." 

"Yes,  I  have  loved,  and  I  shall  love 
again." 

She  arched  her  brows  doubtfully. 

"  But  are  you  sure  you  loved  flatter 
ing  lips?  Was  it  not  a  lashing  tongue?" 

I  looked  into  her  face. 

"You  are  very  clever,"  I  said. 

"No,  I  have  merely  a  few  foolish 
theories,  but  I  fear  they  would  be  scat 
tered  to  the  four  winds  by  the  first  love- 
zephyr  which  chanced  to  blow  my  way. 


146       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

That  is  the  worst  of  life.  One's  actions 
are  so  unlike  one's  speculations." 

She  stopped  before  the  doorway  of  a 
smoke-dimmed  building  of  an  early 
Chicago  type,  standing  pygmy  like  be 
tween  two  giant  neighbors. 

"  I  must  leave  you  now,  I  fear,"  she 
said.  "You  will  come  and  see  me, 
won't  you?  —  but  I  forgot,  you  can 
not." 

"Cannot?"  I  interrupted.  "What 
crime  have  I  committed  in  your  sight?" 

"I  am  leaving  home  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  you  are  going  to  the  country?" 

"No,  I  shall  be  in  the  city,  but  don't 
ask  me  where  I  am  going." 

"You  have  aroused  my  curiosity,  I 
must  know  now." 

"Oh,  it  is  nothing  that  would  interest 
you.  I  am  going  to  spend  a  month  at 
Hallim  Hall.  It  is  a  place  a  lot  of  us 
girls  have  started  in  the  slums,  where 
we  are  trying  to  find  amusement  for  the 
working  people  and  interest  them  in 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        147 

improving  things.  There,  that  is  all  I 
am  going  to  tell  you." 

"But  may  I  not  come  and  see  you 
there?" 

"It  would  bore  you." 

"I  will  chance  it  if  you  are  there." 

"If  you  come  it  is  at  your  own  risk. 
Remember  I  have  warned  you.  Good 
bye,"  she  added,  extending  her  hand 
cordially. 

"Remember,  I  am  coming,"  I  said, 
as  she  turned  and  left  me. 


For  a  moment  I  followed  her  with 
my  eyes.  A  strange  girl  I  thought. 
How  very  frank  and  alert  she  is.  She  is 
attractive  too,  but  she  lacks  the  subtility 
of  Moira,  lacks  her  challenging  beauty. 

Then  as  I  sauntered  back  to  my  hotel 
I  believe  I  fell  to  thinking  about  Dor 
othy  as  she  was  during  her  college  days. 
I  used  to  think  then  that  her  heart  was 
too  masculine  ;  but  was  not  that  opinion 


148       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

merely  the  reflection  of  my  own  views 
on  co-education?  Was  I  not  unwilling 
to  admit  that  a  girl  educated  with  men 
could  be  feminine? 

After  all  it  is  difficult  to  remove  a 
prejudice,  and  my  opposition  to  co 
education  was  of  long  standing. 

But  in  college  I  was  more  or  less  in 
love  with  Moira,  so  Dorothy  was  rather 
an  afterthought.  An  enigma  too,  for  I 
never  understood  how  a  girl  in  her 
position  could  be  there  at  all. 

I  did  not  understand  Dorothy  then, 
else  I  should  not  have  impugned  her 
motives. 

Still  I  was  curious  enough  about  her 
to  go  to  Hallim  Hall. 

I  hate  being  bored,  and  I  love  new 
sensations. 

The  business  jargon  of  the  men  at 
the  club  bored  me  to  excess.  One 
night  I  seized  my  hat  in  desperation, 
and  rushed  out  into  the  street.  It  was 
then  I  thought  of  visiting  Dorothy. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL         149 

I  turned  into  a  great  thoroughfare 
leading  southward  from  the  city's  heart, 
a  place  where  evil  stalks  bare  faced 
under  the  glare  of  electric  lights. 

At  night  the  people  of  a  great  city 
follow  their  natural  impulses.  The 
crowds  which  swell  the  streets  by  day 
are  but  a  jumble  of  contradictory  ingre 
dients  who  mix  but  do  not  assimilate; 
but  at  nightfall  the  human  elements  are 
sorted  out.  It  is  the  hour  of  recreation, 
when  the  good  are  separated  from  the 
bad  and  indifferent  by  affinity.  It  is 
the  hour  to  study  human  nature. 

That  thought  came  to  me  as  I  saun 
tered  along  that  street. 

I  wondered  whether  all  those  repul 
sive  creatures  who  slunk  away  into  the 
night  had  souls.  And  yet  they  were 
human. 

That  girl  who  strolled  past  me  decked 
in  flashy  finery;  in  the  pale  glare  of  the 
lights,  her  painted  face  was  ghastly, 
hideous;  her  lips  drawn  and  hard,  but 


150       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

in  the  stare  of  her  glassy  eyes  there  was 
a  pathetic  plea  for  money  !  money  !  life  ! 

Did  the  divine  spark  still  smolder  in 
her  breast? 

And  that  skulking  pauper  who 
shambled  by,  with  his  lean  hands 
plunged  in  his  pockets  and  the  frayed 
collar  of  his  coat  turned  up  about  his 
ears;  hunger  and  despondency  glared 
from  his  sunken  eyes. 

Had  he  a  heart;  did  he  hope? 

Yes,  he  had  a  thousand  times  more 
heart  than  these  low-browed  ruffians 
who  huddled  in  the  doorway  of  that 
saloon.  What  evil  eyes  they  had. 
Within,  the  lights  gleamed  on  the  mir 
rors  and  rows  of  bottles,  and  through 
the  open  door  came  the  clink  of  glasses 
and  the  coarse  gloating  laugh  of  the 
devil. 

Those  people  who  passed  me,  how 
brutal  their  faces;  how  beast-like  their 
little  eyes.  But  they  were  the  repulsive 
life  of  this  great  city.  The  character  of 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        15! 

the  people  one  meets  here  has  changed 
since  I  was  a  boy.  There  is  less  vigor 
and  Yankee  pluck  in  their  faces,  more 
of  the  degradation  of  the  European  serf. 

And  those  horrible  signs  I  saw  painted 
in  flaring  colors.  Dwarfs,  giants,  mon 
sters,  distorted  horrors  in  spangled 
hues.  A  crowd  huddled  round  the 
door,  listening  to  a  clanging  band  and 
gaping  at  the  pictured  marvels  to  be 
viewed  within  for  a  dime. 

But  man  has  only  two  cravings.  The 
one  is  for  food,  the  other  for  the  un 
known,  the  unattainable. 

The  baby  will  drop  his  bottle  to  watch 
a  sunbeam  dancing  on  the  wall.  It  is 
the  dawn  of  his  soul.  For  the  moment 
those  paupers  I  saw  that  night  forgot 
their  hunger  in  contemplation  of  the 
mysterious,  and  to  them  those  jangling 
discords  were  music.  It  was  the  yearn 
ing  of  gaunt,  starved  souls. 

Yes,  there  is  love  for  the  inscrutable 
in  the  heart  of  every  creature.  The 


152       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

savage  bows  to  the  painted  idol,  because 
to  his  childish  mind  it  represents  the 
occult.  In  our  souls  we  artists  feel  the 
nature  we  would  idealize.  We  paint 
and  strive  to  reproduce  the  unattainable, 
but  how  much  grander  the  conception 
than  its  painted  likeness. 

Those  who  see  the  work  of  a  genius 
marvel  at  its  beauty,  but  they  can  never 
know  the  ecstatic  beauty  of  the  creative 
soul.  That  belongs  to  the  genius  alone. 
It  is  within  him,  and  even  to  him  it  is  a 
mystery. 

But  away  with  such  thoughts.  The 
nauseous  smells  which  oozed  from  the 
basements  stifled  me  that  night.  The 
broad,  straight  street,  stretching  away 
before  me,  with  its  solid  blocks  of  tower 
ing  buildings,  how  unpicturesque  it 
was,  how  ugly?  In  the  day  time,  with 
the  blue  sky  above  and  the  sunlight  to 
soften  the  tones,  such  a  street  is  endura 
ble  ;  but  at  night,  when  the  electric 
lights  glare  on  the  ugly  square  forms  of 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        153 

the  stores  and  the  signs  stand  out 
flaring  and  crude,  it  is  unutterable. 

I  remember  the  arrangement  of  the 
windows  of  a  large  store — fantastic,  but 
unimaginative.  A  ship  built  of  nap 
kins,  a  pyramid  of  hats,  a  feudal  castle 
of  soap  bars,  a  forest  of  flaring  cravats, 
and  a  galaxy  of  multicolored  lights 
gleaming  throughout  that  wilderness  of 
gaud.  A  profanation  of  taste. 

That  street  belongs  to  the  people, 
and  what  do  they  care  for  the  tenets  of 
pampered  art  ? 

I  turned  a  corner.  The  comparative 
darkness  of  the  side  street  was  a  relief 
after  the  glare  of  those  awful  lights. 

Ah,  there  was  misery  !  That  saloon 
with  the  misty  lamps  shining  dim  de- 
hind  the  grimy  windows,  and  that  mis 
erable  drunkard  staggering  through  the 
door.  A  woman  too  !  Ragged,  filthy, 
with  wild  haggard  eyes,  and  froAvsy 
locks  floating  in  the  wind.  Horrible  ! 
Horrible  ! 


154       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

I  asked  a  bystander  my  way  to  Hal- 
lim  Hall. 

"  There,"  he  grunted,  pointing  back 
from  the  street  towards  the  dark  form 
of  an  old-fashioned  house  with  dull 
brick  walls  and  dingy  pillared  portico. 
A  shabby  survivor  of  bygone  splendor, 
standing  aloof  from  the  surrounding 
hovels  —  like  some  reduced  patrician 
ashamed  of  his  low-born  neighbors. 

Making  my  way  across  to  the  stone 
pavement  of  a  court-yard,  I  rang  at  the 
weather-beaten  door. 

From  the  impressions  gathered  in  my 
walk  through  the  streets,  I  had  formed 
a  weird  mental  picture  of  slumming. 

I  expected  to  find  a  cheerless  chapel, 
with  wooden  benches  and  scriptural 
mottoes  on  the  walls,  where  sullen 
paupers  with  hectic  cheeks  were  singing 
psalm  tunes,  and  somewhere  in  the 
midst  of  a  lot  of  cant  and  nonsense 
Dorothy  rescuing  sinners  from  the  fiery 
pit. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        155 

Yes,  several  times  as  I  waited  before 
the  door,  I  was  prompted  to  fly. 

But  a  trim  Alsatian  girl  with  oval 
eyes  and  braids  of  flaxen  hair  finally  an 
swered  my  summons.  I  was  taken  to 
the  library,  and  as  I  waited  for  Dorothy 
I  glanced  about  me  curiously.  The 
apartment  was  lofty  and  square,  with 
tinted  plaster  ceiling,  moulded  elabor 
ately  in  flowers  and  medallions.  Tall 
palms  grew  in  the  corners;  a  hardwood 
floor ;  some  comfortable  leather  chairs, 
and  a  scattering  of  Turkish  rugs  gave 
that  old-fashioned  room  a  touch  of 
modernism;  but  what  astonished  me 
most  was  the  splendid  photographs 
hanging  in  large  oak  frames  upon  the 
walls.  Meissonier's  "  La  Rixe,"  a  Har 
vest  Field  by  Breton,  Fortuny's  Mando 
lin  Player,  The  Angelus  of  Millet,  and 
other  master-pieces. 

On  the  low  cases  of  well-bound  books 
were  some  casts  of  famous  bits  of  sculp- 


156       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

ture — but  where  were  my  religious  mot 
toes  ? 

A  few  girls  gathered  about  the  table 
were  reading.  Young,  active  faces,  with 
keen  sparkling  eyes.  There  was  a  dash 
of  smartness  in  their  dress  and  the 
hands  that  rested  on  the  pages  of  the 
books  were  white  and  delicate. 

A  step  sounded  on  the  hard  floor.  I 
glanced  up.  Dorothy  was  entering  the 
room. 

"I  hope  I  have  not  kept  you  waiting," 
she  said;  "  I  was  finishing  some  entries 
in  my  books." 

"  Your  books?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  the  book-keeper  here, 
and  I  have  dreadful  times — double  en 
tries,  trial  balances,  and  all  kinds  of 
things  I  pretend  to  know  about,  but 
do  n't.  Won't  you  come  into  my 
den?  We  shall  not  disturb  anyone 
there." 

I  followed  her  across  the  room  to  an 
alcove  separated  from  the  library  by  a 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        157 

heavy  curtain.  An  office  desk,  a  letter 
file,  a  few  well  selected  photographs,  a 
huge  map,  and  three  chairs  was  the 
furniture  of  this  retreat. 

"  So  this  is  your  workshop,"  I  said. 
"  It  is  delightful,  but  tell  me  what  you 
do  here.  I  confess  the  whole  place  is 
somewhat  of  a  puzzle.  Those  attractive 
girls  in  the  other  room,  are  they 
your  co-workers  or  merely  rescued  sin 
ners?" 

"They  are  residents,"  she  laughed. 

"  And  are  you  a  resident  or  an  in 
mate?" 

"  This  month  I  am  sort  of  warden  or 
keeper,  if  you  will  persist  in  thinking  us 
lunatics." 

"  So  you  preside." 

"  In  a  way,  yes.  You  see  two  of  us 
girls  organized  the  work  here  four  years 
ago,  just  after  I  left  college.  It  was 
quite  simple  at  first;  we  only  had  a  flat 
and  did  very  little;  but  gradually  others 
joined  us  and  then  we  got  this  house 


158       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

and  fitted  it  up,  and,  really,  we  feel 
quite  proud  of  our  quarters.  I  used  to 
live  here  all  the  time  until  my  mother 
died.  Now,  I  spend  every  other  month 
with  my  father. 

"  But  what  do  you  do  here?  Read 
books  and  look  at  pictures?  I  should  n't 
mind  that,  myself." 

"Does  such  skepticism  deserve  an 
answer?" 

"  I  am  not  skeptical,  I  am  merely 
ignorant." 

"And  irreverent." 

"  No,  plain  ignorant.  My  ideas  of 
slumming  are  woefully  vague.  Tell  me 
what  you  do,  won't  you?  I  am  most 
reverential." 

She  hesitated  a  moment  as  though 
doubtful  of  my  sincerity. 

"In  the  first  place,"  she  said,  "We 
call  Hallim  Hall  a  social  settle 
ment.  We  believe  the  working  classes 
should  be  improved  by  social  inter 
course  and  healthy  amusement.  Oh, 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        159 

dear,  that  sounds  just  like  a  lecture. 
Let  me  give  you  a  pamphlet  to  read." 

"I  would  much  rather  you  told  me. 
Please  go  on." 

"  Well,  from  that  idea  the  scheme 
worked  itself  out.  We  got  acquainted 
with  the  people  and  then  we  tried  to 
interest  them.  We  organized  evening 
classes  in  literature,  ethics  and  lan 
guages;  we  gave  concerts  and  got  up 
theatricals;  we  started  art  classes  and 
formed  women's  clubs,  creches,  music 
classes,  kindergartens,  co-operative  as 
sociations,  and  any  number  of  other 
schemes;  but  I  am  too  enthusiastic  about 
the  work,  and  I  forget  you  do  not  sym 
pathize." 

"  But  I  do,  I  assure  you.  I  am 
astonished  too.  I  expected — I  dare  not 
say  what  I  expected.  And  that  map 
there  with  the  little  squares  of  green, 
blue  and  yellow,  what  is  that?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  map  of  the  slums  with 
the  houses  colored  according  to  the 


I6O       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

nationality  of  the  inhabitants.  The 
green  are  Irish,  the  blue,  Italians,  the 
yellow,  Bohemians,  and  so  on." 

"  How  interesting!  But  there  is  one 
street  nearly  all  white." 

"  The  white  are  Americans,  and  that 
street  I  am  sorry  to  say  contains  the 
lowest  resorts." 

"  So  you  whitewash  the  natives." 

"  Yes,  because  they  are  whited  sepul 
chres.  But  you  will  understand  our 
work  better  if  you  let  me  show  you 
about  or  rather  'tote'  you,  as  we  girls 
say." 

She  walked  before  me  with  a  quick, 
earnest  step.  Her  tall  figure  was  set  off 
by  the  graceful  folds  of  a  bluish  linen 
gown,  and  her  splendid  hair  was  caught 
together  in  a  loose  knot,  just  where  the 
delicate  neck  met  the  sloping  shoulders. 
I  felt  a  thrill  of  admiration. 

"  This  is  the  poetry  class,"  she  said, 
stopping  before  a  partly  open  door. 
"  Peep  in,  but  do  n't  make  a  noise." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        l6l 

I  took  a  hurried  glance  at  some 
twenty  girls  and  men  who  were  seated 
about  a  long  table.  The  faces  of  the 
girls  were  pale  and  weary  looking,  but 
they  had  bright,  intelligent  eyes.  The 
men  seemed  older  and  more  sullen,  I 
thought.  Across  the  room  was  a  cur 
tained  alcove  where  a  piano  stood  on  a 
raised  platform.  A  palm  grew  in  a 
large  blue  vase  and  a  guitar  rested 
against  a  chair.  Beyond  were  some  has 
reliefs  in  plaster. 

"  Now  if  you  will  promise  not  to 
laugh,"  said  Dorothy,  "  I  will  show  you 
the  art  room  and  studio." 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  arouse  my 
professional  curiosity.  But  who  teaches 
art  ?  " 

"  All  our  teachers  are  volunteers, 
most  of  them  are  girls,  but  a  few  men 
help  us  in  the  teaching.  There  is  no 
art  class  to-night,  so  I  can  only  show 
you  the  rooms." 

Leaving  the  house  we  crossed  the 
ii 


l62       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

courtyard  to  a  quaint  rambling  struc 
ture,  with  gabled  roof  and  leaded  win 
dows,  the  gift  of  some  well-wisher  of 
the  cause.  Passing  a  partly  open  door, 
through  which  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
bookshelves  and  green  topped  tables, 
where  pallid  working  people  were  study 
ing  by  the  light  of  shaded  lamps,  we 
climbed  the  winding  stairs  to  the  floor 
above,  and  entered  a  long  empty  room 
with  bare  red  walls  and  a  skylight  over 
head. 

"This  is  where  we  have  loan  ex 
hibits,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a  hurried 
gesture.  "  There  is  nothing  here  now. 
Come  into  the  studio,  won't  you?" 

I  followed  her  to  the  next  room. 

On  the  walls  hung  a  few  sketches  and 
a  plaster  bas-relief  of  a  Roman  Tri 
umph.  Upon  the  narrow  ledge  of  a 
locker  were  casts  of  well-known  heads, 
color  boxes  and  brushes,  bits  of  crayon 
and  copies  of  Greek  and  Etruscan 
vases.  Scattered  about  the  room  on 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        163 

working  easels  were  perhaps  a  dozen 
sketches  in  oil  or  charcoal. 

I  took  up  the  canvas  nearest  me. 
Dorothy  caught  my  arm.  "Do  n't  look 
at  that,"  she  said. 

"I  must,  my  curiosity  is  aroused  now." 

It  was  a  sketch  in  oils  of  a  peasant 
woman  standing  alone  in  a  ploughed 
field.  There  was  a  touch  of  sadness  in 
the  pose  and  the  face  turned  wistfully 
away,  glowed  in  the  reddish  light  of  the 
setting  sun. 

I  glanced  up.  There  was  an  anxious, 
expectant  look  in  Dorothy's  eyes. 

"Did  you  do  it?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  taking  the  picture 
from  me  and  replacing  it  with  a  disap 
pointed  gesture. 

"  There  is  real  feeling  for  color  in 
that  sketch;  where  did  you  study?" 

"A  few  terms  at  the  Art  Institute;  I 
have  n't  time  to  do  much." 

"  You  should  certainly  go  on.  I  wish 
you  would  come  to  my  studio  and 


164       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

paint;  I  might  help  you  with  a  hint  or 
two." 

"Would  you?"  she  said,  glancing  up 
with  radiant  eyes.  "A  word  from  you 
would  mean  so  much.  You  do  n't  know 
what  pleasure  I  am  given  by  even  the 
little  I  do." 

"Dorothy,"  I  said,  eyeing  her  inquisi 
tively,  "You  are  very  complex.  I  don't 
understand  you." 

She  smiled. 

"That  is  because  you  fail  to  see  how 
very  simple  I  really  am." 

"You  are  too  extraordinary  to  be 
simple.  You  love  art,  you  have  talent, 
too ;  yet  you  deliberately  bury  yourself 
in  the  slums." 

"I  would  not  give  up  this  work  for 
all  the  art  in  the  world." 

"But  there  is  enough  drudgery  on 
this  earth  already,  why  create  any  more? 
Mind,  I  admire  your  unselfishness,  but 
I  can't  help  asking  why  you  give  up  so 
much  for  this  work." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        1 65 

She  clasped  her  hands  together 
thoughtfully. 

"Humanity  is  such  a  pitiful  specta 
cle.  I  can't  look  on  quietly.  I  must 
do  something.  If  I  can  provoke  an 
occasional  smile,  I  am  satisfied." 

"Am  I  to  understand  you  aspire  to 
the  role  of  low  comedian  in  the  drama 
of  life?" 

"No,  I  am  only  a  stage  hand.  I  want 
to  help  lower  the  curtain  on  a  few  lives 
ending  more  happily  than  they  began." 

"But  you  can't  remove  evil  from  the 
world.  If  you  rescue  some,  others  will 
take  their  places." 

"I  am  a  thorough  optimist,  Guy.  I 
believe  the  general  tendency  of  the 
world  is  towards  the  good." 

"  But  can  the  efforts  of  one  girl,  how 
ever  brave,  accomplish  much?" 

"It  is  not  the  sudden  blows  of  a  giant 
which  weaken  evil,  it  is  the  continuous 
tapping  of  an  army  of  dwarfs  like  me." 

Dorothy's  eyes  sparkled.     Her  voice 


1 66       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

had  an  earnest  ring.  I  could  not  help 
sharing  her  enthusiasm.  Turning  away 
thoughtfully,  I  examined  the  sketch 
again. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  I  said;  "but 
the  cleverness  of  this  bit  of  work  makes 
me  begrudge  the  time  you  give  to  phil 
anthropy.  You  know  I  have  but  one 
worship,  the  beautiful." 

She  smiled. 

"  Being  a  man,  I  suppose  your  creed 
occasionally  takes  a  feminine  form." 

"  How  could  it  be  otherwise?  The 
apotheosis  of  the  beautiful  is  woman." 

"And  how  many  women  has  your 
fancy  deified  since  pretty  Moira  Brack- 
er?" 

This  sudden  reference  to  Moira 
startled  me.  I  felt  a  blush  tingle  in 
my  cheek. 

"  By  the  way,"  I  said  awkwardly, 
"she  has  made  a  great  hit  in  London. 
I  met  her  in  the  street  a  few  days  be 
fore  I  sailed.  She  wanted  to  be  remem- 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       167 

bered  to  you.  Sent  love  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing." 

I  felt  the  penetrating  glance  of  Dor 
othy's  eyes. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  'tote'  me  some 
more?"  I  asked,  hurriedly.  "I  haven't 
seen  the  half  yet." 


A  man  is  always  in  love  with  three 
women — so  some  Frenchman  has  said 
—The  one  he  loved,  the  one  he  loves, 
and  the  one  he  is  going  to  love. 

I  should  call  the  first  a  regret,  the 
second  a  rebound  and  the  third  a 
recurrence.  Or  is  n't  it  merely  a 
relapse?  I  wonder  how  those  clever 
fellows  who  write  books  turn  out  epi 
grams.  Do  they  flow  out  ready  made, 
or  are  they  worked  out  with  a  diction 
ary?  If  the  latter  is  the  truth  they 
would  n't  acknowledge  it,  I  suppose. 

Nor  would  I  care  to  avow  my  fickle 
ness  to  anyone  but  myself — yet  that 


1 68       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

night  as  I  walked  home  from  Hallim 
Hall  I  began  to  think  about  Dorothy. 

I  owed  nothing  to  Moira;  I  had 
a  perfect  right  to  think  about  Dorothy. 
And  I  did. 

She  was  interesting  because  she  was 
incomprehensible.  She  seemed  like 
one  of  those  mystic  mazes  where  one 
wanders  about,  delighted,  startled,  but 
unable  to  find  the  way  out. 

I  admired  her  beauty.  I  appreciated 
her  artistic  tastes.  I  did  not  understand 
her  philanthropy,  and,  I  am  ashamed 
to  confess,  I  doubted  her  sincerity. 
But,  as  Dorothy  said  that  day  in  the 
street,  opinion  is  experience,  and  my 
experience  with  women  had  made  me 
doubtful  of  them  all.  Dorothy  was 
merely  frank  and  genuine,  and  because 
she  was,  I  fancied  then,  that  it  was  a 
clever  trick  to  disguise  something. 

How  little  we  men  know  about 
women,  and  how  cleverly  they  flatter  us 
into  believing  that  we  understand  them. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        169 

But  Dorothy  is  not  subtle  like  the 
others.  I  scarcely  know  how  I  grew 
fond  of  her. 

Perhaps,  like  a  famished  beggar  I  was 
glad  to  accept  a  few  crumbs  of  friend 
ship  in  lieu  of  a  love  feast.  Starving 
for  Moira's  love,  I  was  driven  to  Dor 
othy  for  solace. 

But  love  is  an  appetite  —  or  an  anes 
thetic.  It  is  a  gnawing  hunger  which 
must  be  gorged  to  be  satisfied,  or  a 
soothing  draught  for  the  weary  heart. 

After  that  night  at  Hallim  Hall  Dor 
othy  never  referred  to  Moira  and  I 
tried  to  forget  her.  I  tried  to  reason 
myself  out  of  my  infatuation ;  but  when 
least  expected  my  cheek  flushed  sud 
denly  at  the  thought  of  her,  my  pulses 
quickened,  a  little  paroxysm  of  desire 
seized  me. 

My  love  for  Moira  was  intermittent, 
but  it  was  a  fever  still,  and  delirious  at 
times. 

I  thought  of  her  as  I  walked  through 


I/O      TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

the  streets,  as  I  worked  in  my  studio, 
or  at  night  when  I  tried  to  sleep.  But 
I  met  Dorothy  frequently,  sometimes 
by  chance,  often  by  intent,  and  her 
presence  was  always  soothing  and  satis 
factory. 

Yes,  Dorothy  has  the  instinct  of  an 
artist. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  have  some  one  to 
listen,  to  understand,  to  appreciate. 
Her  taste  is  marvelous ;  she  loves  the 
beautiful  passionately  —  and  adores  the 
slums.  I  never  can  forget  that  absurd 
contradiction.  But  she  sympathizes  with 
my  ambitions  and  understands  my 
work. 

Moira  never  cared  for  my  art.  She 
was  wrapt  up  in  her  own  success. 

If  only  one  might  love  a  girl  like 
Dorothy.  I  used  to  say  in  those  days 
when  she  first  came  to  the  studio  —  she 
is  such  a  thorough  woman  and  Moira 
so  feminine.  If  that  means  anything. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        17! 

What  a  solemn  toned  clock  that  is. 

One,  two,  three,  four. 

Is  it  so  late  as  that?  How  I  have 
been  dreaming.  And  the  decision  as 
unmade  as  ever.  Well,  I  might  as  well 
light  this  old  pipe  again  and  make  a 
night  of  it. 


Moira  once  said,  that  a  woman's  hap 
piness  depends  upon  her  waist  measure, 
and  I  remember  Dorothy  telling  me 
that  she  thought  happiness  was  merely 
the  habit  of  good  impulses. 

Aren't  one's  views  apt  to  be  the  true 
valuation  of  oneself  inadvertantly  ex 
pressed  ? 

I  suppose  when  Moira  told  me  that 
good  manners  were  merely  a  mask  for 
bad  motives,  she  very  nearly  hit  the 
bull's  eye  of  her  own  character. 

But  Moira's  manners  are  half  her 
charm,  and  the  other  half  is  her  looks. 

AH  of    which   is  rather   ungenerous 


172       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

— for  after  all,  Moira,  with  all  your 
faults  I— 

Do  I  ? 

She  is  sparkling,  exhilarating,  insidi 
ous,  but  she  always  leaves  a  bad  taste 
the  next  day. 

Yet  she  is  a  difficult  habit  to  break  off. 

But  how  genuine  Dorothy  is.  One 
might  take  her  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  days  in  the  year  and  never  be 
any  the  worse  for  it.  I  am  glad  I  have 
known  her,  even  if  nothing  more  comes 
of  it.  A  man  is  better  for  knowing 
that  such  a  girl  exists. 

I  am  glad  too  that  I  painted  Dor 
othy's  portrait. 

It  brought  us  together  and  taught 
me  her  character — taught  me  to  love,  I 
was  on  the  point  of  saying.  Well,  the 
portrait  was  a  success,  and  I  shall  send 
it  to  the  Champ  de  Mars  next  year. 

I  wonder  why  she  was  so  persistent  in 
refusing  to  let  me  do  it  ?  Whatever  her 
faults  be,  vanity  is  not  one.  But  even 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        173 

she  is  vulnerable  to  compliment,  for  my 
flattery  about  her  Italian  type  of  face 
induced  her  to  let  me  design  that  Flor 
entine  gown. 

How  stunning  she  was  in  it. 

That  night  after  she  left  Hallim  Hall, 
and  I  called  in  Prairie  Avenue  for  the 
first  time,  she  was  a  revelation. 

I  see  her  now  sitting  in  an  old 
Italian  chair  with  high  carved  back  and 
lion's  paws  for  arms.  Her  head,  turned 
slightly  aside,  rests  against  one  hand  ; 
her  delicate  arms,  bared  to  the  elbow, 
are  lost  in  puffy  velvet  sleeves,  and  the 
other  hand  with  tapering  fingers  and 
rosy  tinted  tips  falls  gracefully  over  an 
arm  of  the  chair.  A  broad  Medici 
collar  of  old  lace  sets  off  the  clear  white 
neck,  and  the  shadows  of  the  face  are 
perfectly  defined.  The  wavy  hair 
brushed  away  from  the  forehead  is  held 
at  the  back  by  a  gold  comb.  The  dark 
eyes,  calm  and  soulful  for  the  moment, 
look  at  me  dreamilv. 


174       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"  Do  n't  move,"  I  cried  suddenly  ; 
"  Look  !  " 

I  pointed  to  a  mirror  across  the  room. 

"  There  ;  that  is  the  picture  /  would 
paint.  May  I  ?"  She  smiled. 

"Yes,  if  you  think  it  worth  while." 


How  feeble  are  one's  efforts  to  por 
tray  such  an  impression.  I  suppose  it 
is  because  the  imagination  is  so  vivid 
that  any  touch  of  the  brush  is  but  an 
impotent  attempt  to  reproduce  the  feel 
ings  of  the  heart. 

But  what  appears  worst  at  the  hour  of 
creation  is  often  one's  best  work.  Yes, 
at  moments  the  torturing  pains  of  labor 
seem  unbearable,  but  when  the  child  of 
one's  imagination  is  born — the  living 
image  of  one's  inner  heart  —  the  suffer 
ing  is  forgotten  in  the  ecstacy  of  suc 
cess. 

How  little  a  Philistine  knows  about 
an  artist's  heart. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        1/5 

We  artists  sympathize  with  all  the 
world.  The  simplest  impressions  give 
us  pleasure.  It  may  be  only  the 
shadow  of  a  cloud  on  sheep-nibbled 
turf,  but  some  day  it  will  come  forth  in 
our  work.  Then  others  feel  a  part  of 
what  we  have  felt  ourselves. 

But  what  is  our  art  ? 

Our  admirers  flatter  themselves  that 
we  painters  offer  them  the  true  essence 
of  nature.  They  think  we  have  ex 
tracted  the  pith  and  thrown  away  the 
chaff.  But  what  of  the  subtle  effects  of 
light,  which  no  brush  could  produce? 
What  of  our  desperate  struggles  with 
"the  untranslatable  in  nature?" 


I  remember  one  day  in  particular, 
when  I  was  at  work  on  Dorothy's  por 
trait. 

I  was  alone,  subduing  here,  intensify 
ing  there.  The  balmy  air'  of  a  June 
day  floated  softly  through  an  open  win- 


176       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

dow.  A  vase  of  roses  at  my  side  ex 
haled  a  fragrant  odor  of  spring.  From 
time  to  time  a  fleecy  cloud  passed 
before  the  sun,  and  the  warm  light  was 
changed  to  shadow,  while  the  distant 
rumble  of  wheels  upon  the  cobbles  of 
the  street  below,  reminded  me  of  the 
grimy,  surging  city  I  longed  to  forget. 
I  stopped  to  gaze  at  my  work.  How 
lifeless  the  picture  seemed  to  me.  I 
had  attempted  to  describe  her  features, 
and  had  made  nothing  but  a  strained 
and  poorly  colored  academical  draw 
ing.  The  fear  of  not  doing  justice  had 
made  me  write  down  every  detail  of  her 
face  with  equal  emotion.  Why  had  I 
not  left  untold  some  of  those  unneces 
sary  details,  and  why  had  I  not  striven 
to  express  the  delicate  freshness  of  her 
skin,  the  mobile  expression  of  her  lips 
and  eyes?  Why  had  I  not  left  some 
nervous  touches  unsubdued?  Shall  I 
never  know  when  to  stop,  instead  of 
spoiling  by  finnicky  touches  all  the 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        177 

inspired  modelling  of  my  interpreta 
tion? 

How  often  have  I  caught  a  wonder 
ful  brilliancy  —  an  inexpressible  bril 
liancy  of  the  eyes,  and  by  attempting 
to  complete  certain  details,  lost  all  life? 

I  saw,  then,  that  the  living  portraits  of 
Sargent's  dashing  brush  would  lose  all 
quality  if  he  added  the  dreamy  touch 
of  Fantin-Latour.  One  cannot  in  one 
picture  be  a  Franz  Hals  and  a  Greuze. 
Certainly  I  had  not  chosen  the  right 
technical  expression  for  a  face  like 
Dorothy's;  but  where  was  my  skill, 
where  were  the  daring  touches  with 
which  I  paint  men? 

The  social  success  of  my  portraits  of 
women  had  carried  me  away  on  the 
smooth  but  vividless  waves  of  Mievrerie. 

In  an  hour  Dorothy  would  come,  I 
must  try  to  give  form  to  my  work — try 
to  soften  her  eyes  and  subdue  the  hard 
ness  of  the  line  of  the  lips  and  the  nos 
trils. 

12 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

As  I  cannot  make  her  live  I  must  try 
to  make  her  dream.  I  will  try — I  must 
try. 

Yes,  I  despised  what  I  had  done — 
despaired  for  what  I  could  not  do. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in;"  I  cried  gruffly,  too  out 
of  patience  with  myself  to  be  polite. 

I  glanced  up. 

Dorothy  was  standing  in  the  open 
door.  She  was  smiling,  and  her  dark 
spirited  eyes  glistened  under  the  brim 
of  a  large  hat,  with  bobbing  ostrich 
plumes  and  glittering  ornaments  of 
steel. 

She  wore  a  simple  dress  of  crinkled 
grey  which  hung  in  graceful  folds.  The 
sleeves,  with  cuffs  of  lace,  were  full,  and 
there  was  a  dash  of  something  black 
about  the  waist.  Around  the  neck  was 
a  pleated  collar  of  heliotrope  velvet, 
which  blended  with  the  softness  of  the 
grey. 

No,  I  never  forget  a  dress.     If  paint- 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        1 79 

ing  fails  me  I  shall  become  a  dress 
maker. 

"  May  I  come  in  ? "  asked  Dorothy 
hesitatingly.  "  I'm  an  hour  too  early, 
hut  I  was  obliged  to  be  down  town,  and 
I  thought  you  might  n't  object  to  a 
longer  sitting." 

"Come  in,  if  you  don't  mind  beard 
ing  a  very  disagreeable  brute  in  his  den." 

"  You  look  docile  enough,"  she  re 
plied.  "  I  think  I  '11  risk  it.  But  why 
are  you  a  brute  ?  " 

"I'm  tremendously  out  of  sorts.  It's 
one  of  my  blue  days,  I  suppose.  My 
work  is  hopelessly  bad  ;  yards  and  yards 
of  canvas  covered  for  the  benefit  of 
nobody  but  the  colorman." 

"You  don't  deserve  your  success, 
Guy,"  she  said,  advancing  into  the  room. 

"  Success  !  The  greatest  of  us  artists 
are  but  pigmies  beside  our  feelings. 
We  can  never  realize  our  highest  con 
ceptions.  What  is  the  use  of  working  ?" 

"  For  the  satisfaction  of  doing  some- 


ISO       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

thing,"  she  replied,  glancing  over  my 
shoulder  at  the  portrait. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  I  asked. 
I  was  in  a  mood  to  accept  any  criticism. 

"  Are  n't  you  finishing  too  much  ? 
Why  do  n't  you  aim  more  for  color  than 
drawing ;  why  don't  you  leave  your 
brush  marks  ?" 

I  glanced  up  astonished.  The  keen 
ness  of  her  criticism  startled  me.  In  a 
word  this  girl  had  pointed  out  the  prin 
cipal  defect  of  my  work. 

"  Too  much  detail,"  Viraut  used  to 
say.  "Put  in  more  passion;  remember 
Franz  Hals." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  so  much  ?  "  I 
said  in  surprise.  "  Go  on." 

She  hesitated. 

"There  is  something  more;  tell  me." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said;  "I 
only  thought  that  your  drawing  used  to 
be  looser  and  gave  more  life  to  some  of 
your  former  work.  I  thought  that  one 
of  your  pictures  showed  a  greater  love 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       l8l 

for  color.  In  my  portrait  you  seem  to 
be  laboring  too  much  with  detail  and 
neglect  the  general  effect." 

"  The  idea  of  your  being  in  the  slums. 
Don't  you  know  you  have  the  instinct 
of  a  true  colorist." 

"  A  useless  gift,  when  I  can't  paint 
anything  but  miserable  little  sketches. 
I  have  no  confidence  in  myself.  Be 
sides,  by  going  into  the  slums  I  rid 
the  world  of  another  dejected  artist. 
While  I  create  nothing,  I  have  nothing 
to  despise." 

"  I  shan't  parry  that  shaft,"  I  said. 
"  Its  aim  is  too  true.  Come,  let  us  begin 
the  sitting." 

Dorothy  seated  herself  on  the  model- 
throne,  and  resting  her  head  against 
one  hand,  assumed  the  thoughtful 
pose  of  the  picture.  The  spirited  light 
faded  from  the  eyes.  Her  glance  be 
came  calm  and  soulful.  I  studied  her 
face  carefully. 

"  It 's    no     use,"    I    exclaimed.     "  I 


1 82       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

should  like  to  burn  this  wretched  can 
vas.  I'm  in  no  mood  for  work." 

"  If  only  I  could  paint  like  you  ;"  she 
said  reproachfully. 

"  You  are  much  better  off.  You  feel 
without  the  torment  of  failing." 

"You  ought  to  starve  in  a  garret, 
Guy.  You  are  ungrateful." 

"  Merely  because  I  am  dissatisfied 
with  my  work ;  would  you  prefer  to 
have  me  complacent  ?  " 

"No,  but  I  wish  you  would  accept 
yourself  at  the  world's  value." 

"  What  does  that  amount  to  ?  The 
world  is  nothing  but  a  huge  bargain 
counter  where  the  ignorant  trade.  If  a 
man  wants  to  be  taken  up  he  has  merely 
to  become  an  oddity,  and  mark  himself 
in  glaring  figures." 

"  Oddity  in  art  is  sometimes  original 
ity.  If  I  were  an  artist  I  should  not 
object  to  being  the  fashion." 

"  Fashion  to-day  is  oblivion  to-mor 
row." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        183 

"  Then  work  for  posterity." 

"A  poor  solace  for  lifetime  failure." 

She  burst  out  laughing.  "  You  first 
abuse  your  fashionable  success,  and 
then  despise  future  appreciation.  How 
thoroughly  inconsistent!" 

"  I  know  it.  That  is  the  trouble  with 
painters.  We  have  a  hundred  hearts 
instead  of  one;  each  with  its  separate 
longing.  Oh,  well,  the  greater  our 
sympathy,  the  deeper  our  conception  of 
nature.  Turn  your  head  a  little  to  the 
left,  please.  There!  Don't  move  for 
a  moment." 

"  If  you  always  paint  according  to 
your  feelings,  Guy,"  she  laughed,  "you 
must  be  using  lots  of  blue.  Take  care, 
my  stockings  may  be  that  color,  but  it 
does  n't  extend  to  my  nose." 

"  I  am  quite  aware  of  that.  You  are 
too  intricate  to  be  painted  in  one  hue. 
You  are  what  we  artists  call  a  beautiful 
disorder." 

"  What     impertinence,"      she      said 


1 84       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

resentfully.  "  An  explanation  is  the 
least  apology  you  can  offer." 

"  Please,  I  beg  you  again,  do  n't 
move  your  head." 

"  I  '11  be  quiet  myself,  but  I  shan't 
promise  to  keep  my  temper  quiet.  "A 
beautiful  disorder— I  like  that!" 

"You  don't  understand,"  I  said 
apologetically.  "  A  well  regulated  girl 
of  position  might  discuss  art  and 
poetry  with  the  fluency  of  an  attentive 
parrot,  and  dress  with  the  taste  of  a 
Parisian  dressmaker;  she  might  even 
dabble  in  the  occult  for  the  purpose 
of  adding  a  dash  of  mystery  to  her  flir 
tation,  but  she  would  know  nothing 
about  dynamics  or  Greek  roots,  and 
philanthropy  would  be  merely  a  big 
word  in  the  dictionary." 

I  admired  that  quick  play  of  indig 
nation  in  her  glance.  Dorothy  cannot 
dissimulate.  Her  soul  speaks  through 
her  eyes. 

"  So  you  think  I  ought  to  be  a  lay 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        185 

figure  for  French  dressmakers  to  show 
their  wares  upon.  You  wish  I  had  a 
rubber  ball  sort  of  heart,  capable  of 
bounding  back  into  shape  after  every 
impression  —  a  plaything  for  men." 

"  I  wish  I  could  paint  you  with  that 
angry  expression  —  the  fire  in  the  eyes 
—  the  color  in  the  cheeks.  It  is  stun 
ning." 

"  I  won't  be  abused,  Guy;  I  won't 
have  it." 

"There!  I  ought  to  begin  another 
picture  with  an  imperious  pose,  and 
that  indignant  look." 

She  burst  out  laughing.  "  I  never 
know  when  I  am  being  chaffed  until  it 
is  too  late." 

"  How  delightfully  feminine  you  are 
after  all!" 

"After  all." 

"  Yes,  you  are  not  like  other  girls. 
You  never  talk  about  your  flirtations." 

"  It  is  a  woman's  duty  to  be  amusing. 
Shall  I  talk  about  yours  ?  " 


1 86       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"  Do  n't  misjudge  me,"  I  exclaimed 
hastily.  "  I  am  ready  to  join  battle 
on  any  issue.  Shall  it  be  art,  science 
or  religion?  A  Frenchman  once  said 
that  without  those  there  would  be 
nothing  in  the  world  but  appetites 
and  affairs." 

"  Did  he  mean  love  affairs  ? "  she 
asked. 

"No,  love  is  not  an  affair;  it  is  an 
art." 

"  Men  make  it  an  artifice,"  she  re 
plied  sharply. 

"  It  all  depends  upon  the  lover.  An 
artist's  love  is  the  purest  art,  because  it 
is  sincere  and  inspired." 

"Nonsense!  Men  are  all  alike.  Your 
love  is  a  dress  up  affair  for  moments  of 
leisure.  You  do  n't  let  it  bother  you 
during  business  hours,  but  keep  it  fold 
ed  up  carefully  like  your  evening  clothes, 
to  be  taken  out  when  you  wish  to  be 
amused." 

"  You  are  fortunate  in  being  able  to 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        187 

ticket  man's  love  so  readily.  How 
about  a  woman's?" 

'"Alas!  The  love  of  women!  it  is 
known  to  be  a  lovely  and  a  fearful 
thing!'" 

"  Given  when  least  valued,  denied 
when  most  desired,"  I  added. 

She  looked  at  me  thoughtfully.  "We 
are  both  becoming  cynical,  Guy.  Cyn 
icism  is  only  a  cheap  disguise  for  a  bad 
temper." 

I  smiled.  "  Rather  say  optimism  is 
merely  a  synonym  for  self-sufficiency." 

"  Guy,  how  dare  you?  You  know  I 
have  told  you  repeatedly  that  I  am  an 
optimist." 

"  I  should  think  the  only  reliable 
partisan  of  that  creed  must  be  one  who 
having  loved  and  lost  had  lived  to  win 
and  love  another.  The  judgment  of 
such  a  one  would  at  least  be  impartial." 

"So  you  doubt  my  sincerity?" 

"  No,  I  am  merely  ignorant  of  your 
experience." 


1 88       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"As  to  that  I  can  say  frankly  that  I 
have  never  been  in  love." 

Her  eyes  met  ray  doubtful  glance  and 
turned  away  slowly.  She  smiled  nerv 
ously,  I  thought.  Did  she  speak  the 
truth?  I  asked  myself. 

"  But  you  have  theories  about  love," 
I  said  finally. 

"  I  suppose  the  inexperienced  always 
have,"  she  replied.  "  For  my  part,  I 
believe  love  must  be  community  of  taste 
and  sentiment.  Based  on  anything  else 
it  would  be  merely  infatuation." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  feelingly.  "  Infatua 
tion  is  a  poison  we  all  taste,  but  love  is 
the  rare  antidote  few  ever  discover  in 
time." 

She  clasped  her  hands  about  her 
knees  and  gazed  at  the  floor  thought 
fully.  The  dark  eyes,  partly  closed  by 
their  white  lids,  were  dreamy  and  spir 
itual;  there  was  a  touch  of  sadness  in 
the  delicate  line  of  her  lips.  I  felt  that 
as  an  artist  I  might  idealize  Dorothy's 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        189 

face  as  my  conception  of  the  Madonna; 
but  as  a  lover — 

"  Guy  ! "  she  said,  abruptly.  "  It  just 
occurred  to  me  that  one's  heart  is  a  sort 
cf  crucible  where  the  qualities  of  one's 
nature  are  continuously  combining  like 
chemicals." 

"  What  a  material  remark  to  make 
with  such  an  ideal  expression.  I  thought 
you  were  at  least  soaring  on  empyrean 
clouds,  yet,  I  suppose  a  woman's  eyes 
are  always  a  mask  for  her  emotions. 
However,  I  wish  you  would  explain  your 
chemistry  of  the  heart." 

"Why,  when  compassion,  sympathy 
and  inclination  blend,  love  is  the  result. 
If  resentment  is  added  jealousy  is  the 
reaction,  and  a  few  molecules  of  irri 
tation  turn  the  whole  mixture  into 
fury." 

"But  who  does  the  mixing  ?  " 
"The  other  person,  I  suppose." 
"  I  fear  your  ideas  of  love  are  not  as 
reliable  as  your  knowledge  of  art." 


1 90       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"You  have  instructed  me  in  art,"  she 
said  maliciously. 

"  I  am  equally  proficient  in  the  other; 
may  I  instruct  you  in  that  also?  " 

Our  eyes  met  accidentally. 

"  It  would  be  such  a  pity  to  spoil 
friendship,"  she  laughed.  "  After  all  it 
is  the  only  real  solace  in  life." 

"  Friendship  is  not  a  solace,"  I  said 
bitterly  ;  "  it  is  merely  a  sophistry ;  it 
only  begs  the  question  of  love." 

She  did  not  answer.  For  a  moment 
—  it  may  have  been  an  hour — I  painted 
in  silence. 

"There!"  I  exclaimed  suddenly; 
"You  have  made  me  forget  myself,  and 
I  think  I  have  saved  the  picture. 
Please  do  n't  let  me  touch  it  again." 


In  the  wildest  moments  of  my  pas 
sionate  love  for  Moira,  I  was  never  free 
from  the  thought  of  danger.  I  swam 
with  the  torrent  of  my  feelings,  unable 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        IQI 

to  turn  and  stem  the  current,  but  cer 
tain  that  I  was  borne  on  to  destruction. 

Then  the  gentle,  satisfactory  love  for 
Dorothy  calmed  my  heart,  and  it 
seemed  that  I  had  reached  a  cool, 
delightful  mere  where  I  might  float 
dreamily  to  the  end  of  time.  There 
were  no  hidden  rocks  and  dangerous 
eddies  there. 

But  behind  me  were  the  rapids  I  had 
passed,  and  before  me  I  heard  the 
sullen  roar  of  a  cataract. 

At  moments  I  longed  to  feel  the  rush 
of  waters  against  my  breast. 

But  I  held  back.  Dorothy  herself 
sent  me  to  danger. 

To-night  the  perilous  fascination 
mounted  to  my  brain ;  it  maddened 
me. 

Can  I  think  clearly  now  ?  Shall  I 
yield  ?  It  means  the  end  of  everything. 

I  wish  I  could  forget  Moira's  eyes. 
There  they  are,  tormenting,  tantalizing. 

And  to-morrow  — 


TWO    WOMEN   AND    A    FOOL. 

I  cannot  think  about  to-morrow. 
Better  the  past. 


Yes,  that  was  a  heavenly  hour  on  the 
lagoons — an  unforgettable  hour.  We 
were  alone  together  in  the  gondola,  and 
around  us  was  that  summer  night. 
The  waves  lapping  the  prow,  rocked  us 
lazily,  dreamily.  Over  the  black  water 
darted  the  graceful  craft,  impelled 
mysteriously,  as  though  by  a  phantom 
hand.  A  gleaming  paper  dragon  flut 
tered  at  the  bow;  along  the  dark  stretch 
of  the  lagoon  myriad  fairy  lamps  glis 
tened  at  the  water's  edge,  and  every 
where  a  flood  of  pallid  light  fell  on  the 
miraculous  forms  of  giant  palaces, 
standing  white  and  marvelous  against 
the  blackness  of  the  night.  Here  a 
dome  etched  in  fire  ;  there  a  fountain 
misty  white  ;  then  purple,  orange,  green, 
spreading  its  hazy  veil  before  the 
gnome-like  crowds  which  hovered  on 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        193 

the  banks  marvelling  like  ourselves. 
Over  the  waters  floated  the  dreamy 
strains  of  music ;  out  of  the  night 
glided  spirit-ships,  mellow  with  the 
light  of  lanterns,  mirthful .  with  the 
songs  of  Venice.  Then  crimson  fire 
curled  into  the  night,  shedding  its 
eerie  glow  upon  the  magic  city ; 
and,  hissing,  squirming  like  a  nest  of 
serpents,  a  flight  of  rockets  shot  up 
wards  from  behind  the  peristyle, 
spreading  their  fiery  tails  against  the 
sky,  then  bursting  in  a  nebula  of  stars. 

The  gondolier  ceased  rowing;  we 
drifted  slowly  with  the  waves.  Dorothy's 
head  fell  listlessly  against  the  high  back 
of  the  seat ;  her  hand,  beryl-like  in  the 
dim  light  of  lanterns,  rested  on  the 
neck  of  a  brazen  sea  horse. 

I  watched  the  faint  play  of  lights  in 
her  dark  eyes,  the  deep  defining  shadows 
of  her  face ;  then  as  we  floated  on  past 
some  mammoth  portico  where  torches 
flamed,  her  delicate  profile,  white 

13 


194       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

against  a  vivid  stretch  of  water,  was 
like  inlaid  silver  in  a  mass  of  beaten 
gold. 

Her  dreamy  eyes  looked  into  mine. 
"  I  never  understood  the  word  heavenly 
before  ;"  she  said. 

"Nor  I,  Love,"  I  whispered  half 
under  my  breath. 

She  turned  away  slowly,  as  though  she 
had  not  understood.  I  did  not  mean  to 
speak.  The  quiet  tone  with  which 
those  words  passed  my  lips  startled  me. 
I  felt  no  anxious  thrill  as  when  I  spoke 
to  Moira.  Could  this  be  love? 

We  drifted  on  in  silence.  My  hand 
touched  hers.  For  a  moment  she 
returned  the  pressure,  then,  with  a 
frightened  movement  drew  her  hand 
away.  Our  eyes  met.  My  lips  opened 
to  speak. 

"No,  Guy,"  she  said.  "Let  us 
dream  to-night.  " 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        1 95 

Then  the  weeks  rolled  by  with  the 
tender  sympathy  of  that  moment  un 
broken.  We  met  with  the  frequency  of 
lovers  but  never  a  word  of  love.  Our 
talk  was  of  art  and  nature,  and  in  our 
common  passion  for  the  beautiful  we 
found  the  expression  of  our  love. 

Dreamy,  enchanting  love,  it  seemed 
to  me,  for  it  lacked  the  reality  of  an 
other  passion.  I  missed  the  pulse  beats. 

And  yet  I  loved. 

Yes,  a  new  sensation  of  strange  and 
subtile  delicacy  was  in  my  heart,  but 
my  soul  was  not  stirred  as  by  the  touch 
of  Moira's  lips.  A  thousand  times  I 
asked  myself  the  question  :  Is  this 
new-born  love  all  satisfying? 

After  to-night  I  dare  not  answer. 

How  clearly  Dorothy  read  my 
thoughts.  Perhaps  she  was  right  in  not 
trusting  implicitly  to  time,  but  had  she 
remained  at  Hallim  Hall  I  might  not 
have  spoken — at  least  not  until  I  had 
seen  Moira.  But  that  visit  to  Dorothy's 


196       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Wisconsin  country  home — was  it  only 
last  week?  Time  is  unconscionable — 
we  were  alone  with  nature  then. 

That  hour  by  the  woodside,  when  the 
shadows  deepened  on  the  turf  and  we 
sat  together  watching  the  crimson  sun- 
disk  fade  behind  the  line  of  purple  hills. 
It  was  then  that  I  saw  love  flutter  in  her 
eyes. 

"Dare  I  tell  her?"  I  asked  myself. 

But  love  cannot  dream  eternally ; 
that  very  evening  it  awoke. 

We  left  the  stifling  house  and  walked 
alone  into  the  night.  Under  the  shad 
owy  trees  we  stood  gazing  at  the  sleep 
ing  lake.  The  winds  were  still,  and 
fleecy  clouds  hung  motionless  among 
the  trees;  sweet  country  vapors  scented 
the  air,  and  about  our  thoughts  was 
woven  the  mysterious  spell  of  silence. 

Then  a  night  breeze  fluttered  over  the 
water,  and  the  white  fire  of  the  moon 
burning  through  the  clouds  shed  its 
light  on  the  face  beside  me. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        197 

Her  eyes  met  mine,  and  the  tender 
ness  of  their  glance  thrilled  me.  It 
was  a  thrill  of  pride,  of  possession. 

I  touched  the  softness  of  a  dress. 

"Dorothy  !"  I  called  impulsively. 

She  looked  at  me  tremblingly.  One 
moment,  and  she  was  in  my  arms,  obedi 
ent  to  the  summons  of  my  soul  to  hers. 
The  soft  fragrant  hair  touched  my  face, 
and  the  tremor  of  "  lips  which  never 
knew  to  kiss  before  "  told  me  the  love 
I  had  awakened. 

"  I   love  you,  Dorothy,  I  love  you." 

She  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck. 
"Oh,  can  I  believe  it!"  she  cried. 

"My  darling,"  I  said  ;  "till  to-night 
I  have  never  lived." 

"And  to-morrow?" 

"There  can  be  no  to-morrow  to  my 
love." 

I  saw  doubt  in  her  glance.  Her  eye 
grew  sad  and  thoughtful.  I  kissed  hei 
The  lips  were  cold  ;  gently  she  dret 
away 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"Oh,  Guy,"  she  said,  taking  my 
hands  and  holding  them  in  a  close 
grasp ;  "  I  wish  I  could  forget  your 
voice  that  night  at  Hallim  Hall,  when 
you  spoke  of  her, — that  look  in  your 
eyes.  A  woman  who  loves  is  never  mis 
taken.  Have  you  ceased  to  care  for 
her?" 

"Yes." 

"And  if  you  were  to  see  her?" 

"It  is  over  —  dead."  I  trembled 
as  one  trembles  at  the  thought  of 
danger. 

"  Guy,"  she  said  sadly ;  "  if  you 
should  meet  her  some  day  and  find  out 
that  you  had  made  a  terrible  mistake  it 
would  kill  me.  I  must  know;  you  must 
go  to  her." 

"  It  is  over.     Believe  me." 

"  You  must  go  to  her.  If  you  love 
her  you  are  free.  Go  to  her — and — 
and  come  back — if  you  can." 

Forgive  me,  Dorothy,  I  was  a  coward 
beside  you  then.  Your  love  was  as 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        I-Q9 

floating  wreckage  to  a  drowning  sailor. 
It  meant  salvation. 

"  I  love  you  with  my  whole  life,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  I  must  have  all  your  love — 
all." 

Even  then  the  vision  of  another  face 
was  faintly  in  my  thoughts,  and,  cow- 
ardlike,  I  temporized. 

"  Do  n't  send  me  to  her,"  I  said ; 
"  that  love  is  dead,  believe  me,  it  is.  It 
would  be  useless — and  painful  to  her, 
perhaps." 

She  looked  full  into  my  eyes. 

"  Go,"  she  answered  ;  "  and  remem 
ber  you  are  free  to  do  as  you  will." 

I  kissed  her. 

"  I  will  not  go,  "  I  cried. 

"  You  must." 

"  Some  time,  somehow  you  will  come 
back,  I  believe  it ;"  she  said. 

What  confidence  was  in  her  heart 
that  night. 

And  how  unmerited. 

Yet  as  I  stood  there  in    the  moon- 


200      TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

light  with  Dorothy,  I  had  no  fear.  I 
loved  her  with  a  purer  love  than  I  had 
ever  known.  She  was  my  ideal. 

What  hope  is  there  now — after  to 
night? 

Oh  Moira  !  Moira  !  dare  I  meet  your 
eyes  again  —  your  lips? 

And  yet  —  I  do  not  love  you. 

No!  a  thousand  times  no! — it  is  not 
love. 

But  should  your  white  arms  coil 
round  my  neck,  should  your  soft  hair 
fall  about  my  shoulders — 

My  God  !  am  I  a  man? 

I  am  free  to  choose.  My  duty  is  to 
choose. 

Is  not  the  choice  already  made?  Can 
I  go  back  to  Dorothy  after  to-night? 
What  could  I  tell  her? 

That  my  reason  loves  her  :  that  my 
heart  —  that  my  heart  beat  with  mad 
dening  throbs  beneath  the  gaze  of 
another's  eyes. 

Oh  Dorothy !  how  you  would  despise 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       2OI 

me  —  even  while  your  heart  was  break 
ing. 

And  yet  — 

This  room  is  stifling.  I  want  air. 
Here  I  have  been  sitting  through  the 
sultry  night  with  the  windows  closed. 


How  silent  the  sleeping  city. 

Beyond  the  shadowy  park  the  first 
ray  of  morning  gleams  on  the  water  of 
the  harbor.  White,  then  red,  flash  the 
beacons ;  the  pigmy  lights  of  the 
anchored  yachts  glisten  faintly,  and  be 
yond  the  black  line  of  breakwater 
slumbering  Michigan  lies,  calm  and 
silvery  in  the  dawning  light.  Lake  and 
sky  blend  in  a  bank  of  purple  mist ; 
light,  fleecy  clouds  float  spirit -like 
among  the  stars  and  across  the  faint 
blue  heavens  is  a  glow  of  orange  light. 
Another  day  is  breaking. 

Another  day — to  many  the  worst,  to 
some  the  last  of  life  —  and  to  me? 


202       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"To-morrow  you  may  come  back, 
but  it  must  be  for  always.  There  must 
be  no  other  woman." 

Dorothy !     Dorothy  ! 

I  cannot  think  of  you — I  dare  not. 

How  bright  that  morning  star  glistens 
there  above  the  bridge. 

The  dark  clouds  float  across  the 
sky.  Over  the  burnished  water  glance 
rays  of  golden  light:  the  sky  is  deeper 
blue,  and  there  a  tinge  of  greenish  yel 
low  blends  with  the  reddish  light  which 
glows  above  the  fog  bank. 

What  soft,  exquisite  harmony  of  color. 

Ah,  nature  !  what  are  you? 

A  multiplication  of  things,  that  is  all! 
leaves,  grass,  trees,  water,  sky;  yet  I  see 
in  you  symbols  of  my  thoughts.  You 
are  no  longer  things  but  friends  who 
speak  a  language  I  alone  can  under 
stand. 

The  shadowy  grass  grows  mossy  green, 
patches  of  crimson  light  gleam  upon  the 
placid  lake,  sharp  and  clear  is  the  line 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       20$ 

of  the  horizon  against  the  purple  cloud 
of  mist.  The  smoke  from  a  chim 
ney  floats  mournfully  over  the  water, 
half  obscuring  the  distant  forest  of 
masts. 

Birds  twitter  beneath  my  window. 

Those  ripples  which  dance  across  the 
lake;  the  freshening  breeze  creates  them; 
they  appear  and  disappear  in  the  in 
finite  waste  whence  they  came.  A 
moment,  that  is  all.  What  else  is  life? 
An  illusion,  a  phantom,  a  dream  of  the 
great  God  Pan,  whose  being  is  all 
nature. 

Now  the  sky  glows  vivid  crimson, 
and  through  the  mist  a  flood  of  golden 
light  streams  across  the  lake.  The  sun- 
king  is  awake  and,  casting  off  his  cover 
let  of  royal  purple,  he  glances  in  daz 
zling  splendor  upon  his  realm  of  day. 

In  welcoming  clamor  the  stormy  ac 
clamations  of  his  subjects  break  forth. 
An  engine  hisses,  hoofs  clatter  on  the 
cobble  stones,  bells  clang  and  piping 


204       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

shrill  the  voice  of  vagabond  humanity 
proclaims  the  spirit  of  the  day.  "Mor- 
in  paprees— Morin  paprees." 

The  city  is  awake. 

"To-morrow  you  may  come  back,  but 
it  must  be  for  always." 

That  to-morrow  has  dawned. 

"  There  must  be  no  other  woman." 


IV. 

Who  is  it  can  read  a  woman?  " 

Cymbeline. 

IHERE  is  a  saloon  at  the  corner 
of  the  alley  and  colored  lights 
shine  among  the  bottles  in  the  window. 
Down  the  dark  passage  a  lantern  burns 
above  a  narrow  battered  door,  where  I 
read  the  words  "Stage  Entrance."  The 
cobbles  glisten  at  my  feet;  walls  rise 
into  the  night,  and  beyond  is  darkness, 
gloomy,  impenetrable. 

A  girl  brushes  past  me.  Her  hands 
are  in  the  pockets  of  a  light  grey  jacket; 
she  walks  with  a  quick  swing  and  dis 
appears  through  the  stage  door. 

I  take  a  step  into  the  alley— then 
hesitate. 

Mechanically  I  turn  and  gaze  into  the 
205 


2O6       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

window  of  the  saloon.  Above  the  rows 
of  bottles  and  demijohns  is  a  mirror  in 
which  my  own  face  is  reflected.  How 
startling  one's  face  is  at  times.  Those 
dark  lines  under  the  eyes.  Yes,  I  was 
up  all  night  thinking,  thinking — and  to 
what  end? 

Well,  I  cheated  sleep,  which  is  better 
than  cheating  myself. 

So  that  is  the  face  with  which  I  try  to 
impose  upon  the  world.  Yes,  I,  myself, 
whatever  I  be,  go  about  under  that 
mask,  and  I  wonder  how  many  other 
fools  see  the  fool  behind  it.  Ah,  well, 
every  fool  thinks  he  is  a  philosopher, 
and  every  philosopher  must  know  he  is 
a  fool,  because  the  more  he  knows  the 
less  he  knows  he  knows;  and  the  only 
thing  I  know  is  that  I  am  wretched  and 
hate  that  face  in  the  glass  yonder. 

"By  Jove!  Moira's  picture!  Pythian 
Theatre.  Two  weeks,  commencing  Mon 
day,  September  20th." 

"  Can   I   never  get   away   from   your 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       207 

beautiful,  wicked  face?  Ah,  Moira,  I 
must  see  you  again." 

Yes,  you  are  well  placed  among  the 
bottles  and  the  demijohns. 

The  road  to  ruin. 

You  will  make  the  running  fast 
enough,  Moira;  it  will  soon  be  over. 

Do  you  care  for  that  man  Kildale,  I 
wonder — or  for  anyone  but  yourself. 

I  won't  look  at  you. 

Bottles!  bottles!  rows  of  them.  "  Old 
Cutter  Whiskey,"  "  Clark's  Rye,"  "  G. 
H.  Mumm  &  Co.,  Rheims,"  "  Old  Tom 
Gin."  I  shall  choose  gin  to  end  it  all. 
There  is  a  drunken  ring  to  the  word — 
it  would  make  a  beast  of  one  sooner. 

I  am  restless,  desperate.  It  is  the 
darkness  and  the  lights.  I  should  like 
to  do  some  evil  thing — it  is  the  brute 
in  me. 

How  easy  it  would  be  to  grab  that  old 
fellow's  watch  and  cut  down  the  alley. 
A  hue  and  a  cry,  "  Stop  thief !  Police!" 
— a  dash  for  liberty,  and  then — well  it 


208       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

would  be  exciting,  and  for  the  moment 
I  should  forget. 

God!  how  I  hate  myself. 

Success,  happiness,  love — all  for  the 
glance  of  a  woman's  eyes.  Imbecility, 
gone  mad — and  yet  —  ever  since  last 
night — Oh,  I  can't  help  it,  I  must  see 
her  again. 

Will  nothing  stop  me?  Dorothy, 
where  are  you  to-night?  Look  at  me; 
save  me. 

No. 

"You  must  go  to  her;  if  you  love  her 
you  are  free." 

I  saw  her  last  night,  Dorothy — and — 
is  it  not  my  duty  to  see  her  and  know 
the  truth  forever  ? 

Shall  I  go? 

Of  course  I  am  going.  The  sooner  it 
is  done  the  sooner  it  is  over. 

Why  do  I  walk  so  stealthily  and 
tremble  ? 

"A  card  from  the  manager,  all  right; " 
mumbles  the  stage  doorkeeper. 


TWO    WOMEN   AND   A    FOOL.       20Q 

Why  did  n't  he  stop  me?  I  wish  he 
had. 

And  so  I  stumble  through  this  dark 
passage,  and  up  this  flight  of  tortuous 
steps  to  the  stage.  It  is  fate  I  suppose. 
Kismet,  the  Turks  would  say;  and  yet  I 
might  have  changed  it  all. 

There  was  a  time  when  I  was  fasci 
nated  by  such  a  scene  as  this.  Mysteri 
ous  figures  skulking  through  the  gloom 
in  the  wings;  tawdry  dressed  chorus 
people  huddled  under  a  flaring  gas  jet; 
the  leer  of  painted  women — it  disgusts 
me  to-night. 

Here  in  the  right  entrance  I  shall  be 
out  of  harm's  way. 

A  street  in  Tunis  I  should  call  this 
setting.  Oriental  houses  with  draperies 
and  hanging  balconies — a  mosque,  a 
French  cafe",  and  at  the  back  the  blue 
Mediterranean  with  a  fleet  of  warships 
at  anchor — all  painted  with  great  ugly 
iaubs  of  paint. 

I  am  glad  I  am  not  a  chorus  girl  to 
14 


210       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

be  pulled  about  and  sworn  at  by  that 
ruffian  of  a  stage  manager. 

Is  Moira  dressed  yet,  I  wonder? 
Shall  I  rap  at  her  door?  No,  I  will 
wait. 

What  a  cowardly  fool  I  am. 

By  Jove  !  that  girl  peeping  through 
the  curtain  is  pretty.  What  dainty  lit 
tle  hands  and  feet.  That  Turkish  cos 
tume  is  becoming  too,  with  the  gold 
embroidered  cap  caught  on  her  yellow 
curls. 

And  there  comes  a  big  turbaned 
brute,  who  lays  his  coarse,  dirty  hand 
on  her  little  waist,  and  they  walk  off 
arm  in  arm.  Well,  I  envy  those  chorus 
people.  Contrition  is  the  penalty  we 
pay  conventionality.  When  one  is  with 
out  the  social  pale,  there  is  no  fear  to 
masquerade  as  conscience. 

"  Hello  Wharton  !  where  did  you 
come  from?" 

A  French  chasseur  is  at  my  elbow. 
Under  the  grease-paint  and  dragoon 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       2 1  I 

mustachios,  I  recognize  Herbert  Dar- 
ington,  tenor  of  the  Frivolity  Opera 
Company. 

"  Why  Darington,  how  are  you,"  I 
say,  as  I  take  his  hand. 

"  So,  so  ;  this  touring  the  provinces 
does  n't  agree  with  me — the  climate  ;  I 
shall  have  pneumonia  if  I  stay  in  Chi 
cago  a  week." 

"  If  a  tenor  could  n't  find  fault  he 
would  n't  be  a  tenor." 

"  I  '11  let  that  pass  if  you  will  follow 
me.  I  've  got  a  pint  bottle  hid  away  to 
give  me  a  bracer  before  I  go  on." 

"  Very  well,  anything  for  a  change." 

"Just  look  at  the  stuff  they  have  piled 
in  my  room,"  he  says,  pointing  to  a 
heap  of  theatrical  rubbish  stowed  away 
at  one  end  of  the  three  cornered  apart 
ment.  "  They  might  as  well  put  me  in 
the  property  room  and  be  done  with  it. 
I  've  only  got  one  glass,  such  as  it  is; 
you  take  it  and  I  '11  drink  out  of  the 
bottle,"  and  he  draws  the  cork  and 


212       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

pours  the  sparkling  wine  into  an  old 
jelly  tumbler. 

"  By  the  way,"  I  say,  as  I  take  a  seat 
on  an  iron  bound  trunk,  labelled  "Friv 
olity  Opera  Co.,  Theatre  ; "  "I  hear 
you  are  leaving  at  the  end  of  the  sea 
son." 

"  Yes." 

"  Doesn't  the  management  treat  you 
well?" 

"  Yes — but — " 

"  You  want  to  star?  " 

"No — well,  you  won't  mind  my 
speaking  out  now  you  've  quit  her.  But 
Marston,  well  she  thinks  a  tenor  exists 
merely  for  her  to  hang  her  voice  on. 
Temper — a  madhouse  isn't  in  it  with 
her." 

"You  surprise  me." 

"You  ought  to  know,"  he  says  with 
an  insinuating  tone  which  irritates  me. 

"We  never  quarreled,"  I  replied 
sharply. 

"  Oh,    you    need  n't   get    angry,    old 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       213 

man  ;  I'm  not  the  only  sufferer,  she 
drove  Vance  out  of  the  company  six 
months  ago." 

"  I  should  think  Ledger  would  put 
the  screws  on." 

"Ledger — Why  she  owns  him." 

"Does  she?" 

"Where  have  you  been?"  he  asks 
with  an  incredulous  smile. 

I  drain  my  glass  in  silence  and  put  it 
down  among  the  sticks  of  grease-paint 
and  hare's  feet. 

"  By  Jove !  there  goes  the  opening 
chorus ;"  says  Darington.  "  I  go  on 
directly,  good  bye." 

I  follow  him  as  he  swaggers  off  into 
the  wings  ;  his  sabre  clanking  at  his 
heels  ;  his  cap  perched  conceitedly  on 
his  curly  head. 

A  singer's  conceit  is  in  direct  ratio  to 
the  height  of  his  voice.  Bassos  are 
usually  good  fellows,  and  baritones  of 
ten  endurable,  but  a  tenor — 

Two    little    gloved    hands  close    my 


214       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

eyes  suddenly.  There  is  an  odor  of 
roses  and  a  merry  familiar  laugh. 

"  Guy,  you  dear  old  reprobate,  so  you 
are  here,  are  you?" 

"  Moira,"  I  cry,  seizing  both  her 
hands  :  "you  knew  I  would  come,  you 
knew  it." 

"  Well,  you  need  n't  squeeze  my 
hands  off." 

"  Oh,  Moira." 

"  Let  go,  Guy,  you  're  hurting  me  ; 
there  that  's  a  dear." 

"  You  bewitching  creature  ! " 

She  smiles.  Her  eyes  are  almost 
tender. 

I  gaze  into  her  face  earnestly. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  me? 
You've  looked  at  me  long  enough." 

"  You  're  almost  perfect — but — well 
you  know  I  hate  to  see  you  in  tights,  it 
cheapens  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  does  n't.  I  get  ten  guin 
eas  a  week  more  than  I  did  in  female 
parts." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       215 

"Well  I  don't  like  it." 

"  But  the  public  does,"  she  says  with 
an  impudent  toss  of  the  head  ;  "  and 
I  belong  to  the  public." 

"  Moira,  Moira,  I  do  n  't  believe  in 
you,  but  I — " 

"  Hush  !  I  must  go  on,  that 's  my  cue, 
wait  for  me  here." 

There  she  goes.  A  thousand  hands 
applaud  her. 

Moira,  you  sorceress.  You  have  them 
spell  bound  too.  But  I  adore  you  to 
night.  I  adore  you  just  as  you  are. 
There  's  no  one  like  you.  Your  little 
feet  with  the  glistening  patent  leather 
boots,  how  daintily  they  keep  time  to 
the  music.  How  gracefully  that  white 
cloak  falls  from  the  shoulders  of  that 
blue  chasseur  coat;  the  little  red  cap  and 
the  little  gloved  hands,  and  the  flash 
ing  sabre  —  and  the  clanking  spurs, 
and  the  grace  and  charm  of  it  all ;  who 
could  help  being  fascinated  by  such  a 
creature? 


2l6       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

But  the  paint  and  the  powder,  and 
the  vulgar  chorus  throng  —and  the 
publicity  of  it  all.  I  hate  it. 

And  that  conceited  beast  Darington 
holding  her  in  his  arms  and  pressing 
his  painted  lips  to  hers.  Yet  I  must 
expect  just  that  sort  of  thing  night 
after  night.  One  pays  dearly  for  a 
certain  kind  of  happiness. 

"  Marston  is  in  great  form  to-night, 
aint  she  ? "  says  Ledger,  the  vulgar 
brute,  at  my  elbow. 

"Yes."     I  mutter. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  there  's  money 
in  legs.  The  receipts  tumble  twenty 
quid  a  night  when  we  put  on  a  skirt 
piece.  But  ta,  ta;  I  must  go  in  front." 

That  glance  into  the  wings  for  Led 
ger.  How  could  she?  " 

There  she  comes  at  last.  The 
applause  of  countless  hands  ringing  in 
her  ears. 

"Three  encores  for  my  solo,  Guy. 
I  never  get  less  than  two.  That  fool 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       21 7 

Darington  spoiled  the  duet.  "Whew! 
but  my  boot  pinches.  I  must  take  it  off. 
Here,  pull,  Guy.  There  that 's  better. 

She  lays  a  hand  on  my  shoulder  to 
steady  herself,  as  she  stands  there  hold 
ing  the  wee  bootless  foot  off  the  ground. 

Our  eyes  meet. 

"  Guy,  you  're  a  dear  to-night.  Do 
you  love  me  a  little  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart  and  soul." 

"  My  heart  is  too  good  for  you,  but 
here  's  my  soul,"  she  laughs,  slapping 
my  hand  with  the  little  boot. 

"  Be  serious  for  once,  Moira." 

"  I  leave  that  for  her.  By  the  way, 
did  you  see  her  to-day,  did  you  tell  her 
—  here,  give  me  that  boot  quick;  I've 
got  to  go  on  —  steady  me,  you  stupid; 
there,  my  !  but  it  hurts.  Good  bye. 
I  'm  on  till  the  end  of  the  act.  Meet 
me  on  the  other  side  ;  I  dress  there." 

She  turns  back  and  laughs:  "Tell 
me  about  her  then,"  she  whispers. 

The  little  devil  ! 


21 8       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

One  could  endure  unhappiness  were 
it  not  for  the  happiness  of  others.  But 
I  have  made  my  own  bed  and  I  must 
lie  in  it. 

I  should  like  to  walk  boldly  across 
the  stage.  Imagine  the  consternation  I 
would  create.  On  second  thought  I 
will  squeeze  myself  behind  the  blue 
Mediterranean  and  the  war  ships. 

I  wonder  if  I  can  do  it  without  agi 
tating  the  waves  unduly? 

I'll  risk  it. 

Lamps,  carpets,  divans,  nargilehs — 
a  mess  of  everything.  It  is  too  crowded 
on  this  side.  I  can't  stay  here.  That 
entrance  next  the  stage  manager  is  the 
best  place  for  me. 

"May  I   stand  here,  Mr.  Hopkins?" 

"  Umph,"  he  grunts  without  taking 
his  eyes  from  the  stage. 

Silently  I  watched  the  changing  pic 
ture  on  the  stage. 

Thirty  painted  women  and  not  one 
lovable  face  ;  yet  Moira  is  there. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.        2IQ 

"Watch  Marston  look  at  that  new  sou- 
brette  ;  there's  a  devil  of  a  row  on  be 
tween  them  two,"  grunts  the  autocrat 
at  my  side. 

"What 'sup?" 

"Jealousy.  Marston  's  getting  too 
bloomin'  free  with  that  tongue  of  hers. 
If  she  aint  careful  I  '11  give  her  such  a 
talking  to  as  she  never  had."  Then  he 
curses  beneath  his  breath  at  some  delin 
quent  chorus  girl. 

"  Watch  the  new  grouping  in  this 
finale.  It's  immense.  Took  me  a  fort 
night  to  work  it  up." 

The  fiddles  screech  ;  a  flood  of  light, 
white,  green,  then  red,  changes  the  taw 
dry  dresses  chameleon  like  ;  and  amid 
swaying  heads  and  waving  arms  the 
great  curtain  slowly  falls.  A  round  of 
applause,  louder,  louder  it  swells,  an 
other  tableau,  then  when  the  act  drop 
thuds  upon  the  boards  the  little  satin 
slippered  feet  of  principals  and  chorus 
girls  scamper  towards  the  dressing 


220       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

rooms,  and  stage  hands  scuffling,  shout 
ing,  cursing,  demolish  the  street  of 
Tunis. 

Moira,  flushed  with  another  triumph, 
hurries  off  the  stage,  bearing  in  her  lit 
tle  arms  a  huge  bouquet  of  roses. 

"  The  piece  is  going  splendidly,  Guy. 
The  house  was  cold  at  first,  but  I  woke 
them  up." 

"  As  you  always  do." 

"Yes,  there  is  no  life  like  it." 

"  But  I  wish  you  would  leave  the 
stage,  Moira." 

"And  marry  you  ?"  she  laughs. 

"  Yes/' 

"  Think  of  me  sitting  in  a  chimney 
corner  with  a  lot  of  sprawling  brats,  or 
even  playing  tame  cat  in  the  studio 
while  you  paint — it 's  absurd,  Guy." 

"  Isn't  there  something  better  in  life 
than  excitement?  " 

"  Excitement  Guy  !  I  could  n't  live 
without  it.  No,  I  love  this  life  more 
than  I  could  love  you,  or  any  man. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       22  i 

There,  I  must  hurry.  You  can  come  in 
and  see  me  when  it  is  proper — how  ab 
surd  :  but  I  must  keep  up  appearances. 
Parker  here  will  tell  you  when  I  am 
ready.  And  by  the  way,  Parker,  did 
you  get  that  brandy?  Good  bye,  Guy." 

Love  is  the  devil.  Yes,  the  devil.  If 
I  shut  my  teeth  and  say  I  won't  why 
can  't  I  stick  to  it.  There  is  not  a  sin 
gle  lovable  thing  about  that  girl  ex 
cept  her  eyes — and  they  torture.  I  hate 
her. 

Why  does  that  soubrette  look  at  me 
so  triumphantly?  Perhaps  she  realizes 
how  becoming  her  pink  and  blue  cos 
tume  is.  Muriel  d'Ancona !  She  was 
Jane  Brown  in  the  chorus  last  year.  She 
has  pretty  eyes  though,  and  plenty  of 
go.  I  will  trust  her  to  get  on. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Wharton,  Miss  Marston 
says  you  may  come  in  now." 

"  Very  well,  Parker." 

In  a  dingy  little  room,  amid  powder 
puffs  and  rouge  pots,  Moira  is  hooking 


222      TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

the  collar  of  her  dress.  The  delicate 
pink  and  baby  blue  bodice,  with  huge 
puffy  sleeves  and  pointed  tails  has  a 
dash  which  suits  her  figure.  The  gas 
light  flares  on  her  painted  face.  She 
looks  older. 

"Don't  stand  there  like  a  duffer, 
Guy  ;  say  something." 

"  About  you,  I  suppose.  You  look 
charming,  as  you  always  do." 

"  You  are  too  dull  to  pay  compli 
ments  to-night.  Tell  me  about  the 
confiding  little  creature  who  has  been 
silly  enough  to  fall  in  love  with  you.  I 
suppose  she  is  pretty  and  simpers  de 
lightfully,  and  looks  up  into  your  face 
with  big  dreamy  eyes  fairly  watering 
with  love." 

"All  women  are  not  like  you." 

"You  are  cross  enough  to  eat  my 
head  off,  Guy.  Perhaps  I  wrong  her. 
Perhaps  she  does  n't  simper  and  cuddle; 
perhaps  she  throws  her  arms  around  you 
and  hugs.  Does  she?  " 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       223 

"  I  won't  answer  that." 

"  Then  go  and  talk  to  some  other 
woman — that  Jane  Brown  with  the 
French  name  will  take  up  with  anything 
in  trousers." 

"  You  seem  to  admire  her  taste  in 
clothes  at  least." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  You  have  a  pink  and  blue  gown 
like  hers." 

"Nonsense." 

"I  just  saw  her  leaving  her  dressing 
room.  I  should  think  her  gown  was 
turned  out  of  the  same  mould  as 
yours." 

"The  cat  !" 

"  Send  for  Mr.  Hopkins,  Parker." 

She  stamps  the  floor  with  her  little 
foot. 

"  How  dare  she,  the  little  viper!  The 
impudence,  the  conceit  of  the  thing; 
what  is  she?  A  creature  from  the 
streets  ;  the  chorus  was  too  good  for 
her,  and  now  she  dares — " 


224       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

"Moira." 

"Don't  speak  to  me." 

She  paces  the  floor  muttering  words  I 
thought  no  woman  would  dare  to  speak. 

The  door  opens,  and  Hopkins,  pale 
and  frightened,  skulks  into  the  room. 

"  I  shall  not  go  on,  Mr.  Hopkins," 
says  Moira,  her  eyes  flashing  fire. 

"But,  Miss  Marston." 

"That  prote'ge'e  of  yours,  that  Jane 
Brown,  dares  wear  a  dress  like  mine.  1 
shall  not  go  on." 

"  But  the  stage  is  waitin',  think  of  the 
public." 

"  That  for  the  public  !  "  she  cries, 
snapping  her  fingers  contemptuously. 
"  That  hussy  must  change  her  gown  and 
apologize." 

"Now,  Miss  Marston,"  the  fellow 
pleads.  "  There  aint  time  for  'er  to 
change.  She  has  the  stage.  The  or 
chestra  is  back,  the  curtain  goes  up  di 
rectly.  Now,  just  to  please  me,  there  's 
a  dear." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       225 

"  Do  n't  dear  me,"  she  cries  sud 
denly,  throwing  a  silver  hair  brush  at 
the  offending  manager.  Hopkins 
dodges  the  missile.  It  strikes  the  door 
and  falls  to  the  floor.  A  sickly  smile 
fades  from  his  lip. 

"  Miss  Marston,"  he  says  with  more 
firmness  ;  "  the  stage  is  waitin',  unless 
you  are  ready  to  go  on,  your  under 
study  takes  the  part." 

"Very  well,"  she  answers, with  a  shrug 
of  her  shoulders;  "  I  leave  the  company 
to-morrow." 

"The  stage  is  waitin'." 

"  Unless  that  creature  changes  her 
gown,  I  do  not  go  on." 

"  The  stage  is  waitin'.  I  will  give 
you  just  two  minutes,"  he  replies,  pull 
ing  an  enormous  watch  from  his  pocket 
by  its  massive  gold  chain. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Ledger  ?  " 

"  I  manage  the  stage,  Miss  Marston." 

"Parker,  go  find  Mr.  Ledger." 

The  maid  departs.     Moira  seats  hei- 


226      TWO    WOMEN   AND    A    FOOL. 

self  before  the  glass  and  calmly  smoothes 
her  hair.  Hopkins  paces  the  floor. 
Finally  he  approaches  her. 

"  Now,  look  here,"  he  says  in  con 
ciliatory  tones,  "  what 's  the  use  of  this 
rumpus  anyhow  ?  Miss  d' Ancona  is  in 
the  wrong,  and  I  know  it,  but  it  can't 
be  helped.  Let  her  wear  the  gown  to 
night,  and  you  change  yours.  You 
do  n't  go  on  at  first,  you  know.  I  '11 
dock  her  a  week's  salary  if  you  will. 
Now,  do  be  reasonable." 

"  I  demand  an  immediate  apology 
from  her." 

"  Well,  she  won't  give  it,"  he  mut 
ters. 

"  Why  not  accept  Mr.  Hopkins'  pro 
posal,  just  for  the  sake  of  harmony?"  I 
suggest. 

She  turns  and  looks  at  me,  her  eyes 
flashing.  "  Mind  your  own  business, 
Guy." 

There  is  a  rap  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  calls  Moira. 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL        22? 

The  door  opens  and  Ledger  enters. 
His  studs  glisten  and  his  linen  shines 
more  than  usual,  while  through  the  open 
door  is  wafted  a  nauseous  odor  of  scent 
and  hair  oil. 

Moira  glances  up  indifferently. 

"  I  sent  for  you  to  say  that  I  have 
been  grossly  insulted  by  a  chorus  girl 
your  stage  manager  has  seen  fit  to  put 
in  the  caste.  Unless  she  apologizes  or 
is  discharged  immediately,  I  leave  the 
company.  That  is  all." 

She  takes  up  a  hand-glass  and  exam 
ines  her  back  hair. 

Ledger  looks  nervously  at  Moira,  then 
at  the  stage  manager. 

"  Come  with  me,  Hopkins,"  he  says, 
"and  find  the  girl.  I  will  settle  her  in 
short  order." 

Hopkins  jams  his  hat  on  the  side  of 
his  head,  and  plunging  his  hands  into 
his  pockets,  follows  his  chief  from  the 
room.  Moira  hums  a  tune  and  gazes 
at  herself  in  the  mirror.  There  is  a  de- 


228       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

termined  self-satisfied  look  in  her  eyes. 
I  pace  the  floor.  A  thousand  incoher 
ent  thoughts  rush  through  my  brain.  I 
feel  like  one  stunned.  I  cannot  think 
clearly.  No,  my  nerves  are  too  shat 
tered.  As  I  stand  and  look  at  that 
woman,  a  feeling  of  repulsion,  yes,  of 
hate,  enters  my  heart. 

How  long  is  it?  Five  minutes,  an 
hour,  I  do  not  know.  Ledger  has  re 
turned.  Hopkins  skulks  in  the  door 
way. 

The  manager  lays  his  hand  on  Moira's 
shoulder.  "It's  all  right,  my  dear.  She 
is  discharged.  The  understudy  has  her 
part." 

Moira  looks  up  and  smiles. 

"  You  are  a  dear,  Harry,"  she  says, 
patting  his  cheek  with  her  fan. 

Hopkins  looks  at  me  despondently. 

"There  aint  any  discipline,"  he 
whispers,  "since  Marston  mashed  the 
guv'nor." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       22Q 

The  performance  is  finished.  I  am 
waiting  for  Moira.  She  is  always  the 
last  to  leave  the  theatre. 

By  the  light  of  a  single  gas  jet,  flick 
ering  near  the  property  room,  a  stage 
hand  is  sprinkling  the  dusty  boards. 
Bare,  whitewashed  walls  loom  prison- 
like  about  me;  here  and  there  a  pile  of 
scenery  rests  aslant  against  the  sombre 
bricks.  Occasionally  some  thin-faced 
actor  with  shabby  hat  and  well  worn 
ulster  steals  from  the  dressing-rooms 
above,  or  a  hungry  chorus  girl  with 
little  high  heeled  boots  steps  quickly 
across  the  stage  and  disappears. 

And  why  do  I  wait?  To  be  tortured? 
No,  she  no  longer  has  that  power  over 
me.  I  begin  to  know  her  at  last. 

How  my  steps  creak  on  the  deserted 
stage.  There's  an  open  wicket  in  the 
iron  fire  curtain;  it  might  amuse  me  to 
look  at  the  empty  theatre. 

How  huge  and  desolate  it  seems. 
Through  a  distant  door  streams  a  flood 


23O       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

of  light.  All  else  is  gloom.  The  rows 
and  rows  of  empty  seats,  the  galleries 
with  Holland  coverings  guarding  the 
paint  and  gilt  work;  the  silence  and  the 
vastness  of  the  place — it  is  deathlike  as 
my  thoughts. 

Oh  Dorothy,  Dorothy !  dare  I  ask 
forgiveness? 

I  can  feel  the  strange  shock  of  your 
kiss,  your  soft  fragrant  hair  touches  my 
face;  then  your  lips  grow  cold;  your 
eyes  reproach  me. 

That  was  a  sad  sweet  moment. 

I  have  seen  her,  Dorothy.  That  love 
is  dead;  believe  me,  it  is  dead.  I  know 
her  at  last. 

''Wake  up,  Guy ;  I  pinched  you  twice. 
Are  you  asleep?" 

"  Moira!" 

"  Why,  I  actually  believe  you  were 
thinking  about  her,"  she  laughs,  drag 
ging  me  away.  "  It  is  positively  rude, 
Guy." 

"  Yes,  I  was  thinking,  Moira." 


TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL.       231 

"  Oh,  come  along,  you  stupid,  there 
is  a  horrible  draught  here,  and  you  have 
no  right  to  think,  unless  it  be  charming 
things  to  say  to  me." 

Sullenly  I  follow  her. 

And  I  thought  I  loved  that  woman. 

We  reach  the  dark  and  tortuous  step 
leading  to  the  alley. 

"  Hold  me  tight,  Guy  ;  I  do  n't  want 
to  fall." 

Yes,  I  can  place  my  arm  about  her 
waist  without  one  thrill  —  and  yet  this 
very  night.  But  who  can  analyze  the 
vagaries  of  passion.  I  hate  her  now, 
her  vanity,  her  selfishness.  The  touch 
of  her  hand  seems  tainted. 

At  the  stage  door  a  horse  stands 
nervously  champing  his  bit.  A  broug 
ham  is  waiting  in  the  alley. 

Silently  I  open  the  door.  Moira 
enters. 

"  Shut  the  door,  Guy  ;  what  are  you 
waiting  for  ?  " 

"I  am  not  going,  Moira." 


232       TWO    WOMEN    AND    A    FOOL. 

Her  eyes  meet  mine.  "  Who  asked 
you  to  come  ?  " 

I  gaze  at  her  in  amazement,  for  there 
is  a  man  in  the  brougham.  By  the 
faint  light  of  the  carriage  lamp  I  recog 
nize  his  features. 

It  is  d'Argenteuil. 

Moira  laughs. 

"  Good  night,  Guy  ;  give  my  love  to 
Dorothy  Temple." 


THE    END. 


THE  PRINTING  WAS  DONE  AT 
THE  LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO, 
FOR  STONE  *  KIMBALL,  PUB 
LISHERS. 


Date  Due 


